Loving the Alien Venus: Reflections on the Work of Jean-Marie Appriou and the Strange Affects of Art

Photo by Maria Thanassa of Stephen Alexander 

and Jean-Marie Appriou's The Birth of Venus (2022)

 

 

If asked to name my favourite sculptor at the moment, it would have to be the French artist Jean-Marie Appriou [1], who uses all kinds of material - aluminium, bronze, glass, clay, wax, etc. - to create disturbingly strange figures who are sometimes human in appearance, sometimes animal-like, or sometimes vegetal in character, but who are always essentially alien, despite their seemingly terrestrial origin. 

 

Rather than alien, perhaps we might better describe their nature as divine. In other words, perhaps we should think of Appriou's figures as gods. At any rate, one of my favourite works of his is a Venus figure presently on display in London at the Alison Jacques gallery ... [2]

 

 

II. 

 

Composed of aluminium and hand blown glass and standing 136 cm in height - that's just under four-and-a-half foot to you and I - the silvery-bodied Venus with a sea-shell cocoon still attached to her back, wears a purple-coloured glass helmet, rather like a fishbowl, so she can breathe as she transitions from an aquatic world beneath the waves to one on dry land [3]. 

The work, as an object, has a sensual aspect, even though the figure is strangely sexless for a Venus. Without moving a muscle and by incorporating a wide-range of cultural references, it curdles the distinction between a whole series of oppositions; adult/child; male/female; human/nonhuman; mortal/divine; the mythological past/the sci-fi future

 

And, like the very best artworks, it not only makes one question notions of identity, it affects us and faciliates what Deleuze and Guattari would term "real and unheard of becomings" [4] involving the affirmation of difference and the opening of infinite possibilities.

 

Just standing in the presence of Appriou's Venus for a few minutes, exposes one to weird forces and flows or what occultists refer to as demonic reality - and that's something I didn't experience even when standing before Botticelli's masterpiece in the Uffizi Gallery. 

 

One leaves the exhibition space a different being to the one who entered (as the Little Greek's photo above illustrates).    

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Born in Brittany in 1986, Appriou presently lives and works in Paris. He is represented in London by the Massimo De Carlo Gallery. His page on the gallery's website can be accessed by clicking here.

[2] The piece, entitled The Birth of Venus (2022), forms part of the Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley group exhibition, curated by Daniel Malarkey at Alison Jacques, which runs until the 8th of March. For full details of this exhibition click here. And for my thoughts on it, click here.  

[3] One imagines the helmet would be full of an oxygenated liquid, similar to that used by the aliens in the cult British TV series UFO (1970-71).

 

[4] See Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi (The Athlone Press, 1996), p. 244.

 

 

Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley ... Starring Sebastian Horsley as Maxim de Winter

Maggi Hambling: Sebastian Horsley XI (2021) 

Oil on canvas (125 x 95 cm)

 

"The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. 

But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. 

And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea."

- Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca (1938)

 

 

I. 

 

I honestly can't remember what visions (if any) disturbed my sleep last night, but, earlier today, I went to an excellent group exhibition curated by Daniel Malarkey at the Alison Jacques gallery, whose title is a paraphrase (or perhaps misremembering) of the opening line to Daphne du Maurier's famous Gothic novel Rebecca (1938): 

 

Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley ... [1]  

 

 

II.

 

According to Malarkey, who spent over 18 months working to stage this show, it wasn't until he came to name it that he realised that he had subconsciously been curating an exhibition about the favourite novel of his adolescence [2]; a book that I came to know much later, but have also grown to love [3].

 

Malarkey's aim, according to the gallery's press release, is to "retell the story of Rebecca, taking the viewer on a path which explores notions of memory, darkness and transformation" [4], forming temporal connections and demonstrating the potential of narrative to facilitate all kinds of strange becomings. 

 

In order to accomplish this, Malarkey brings together the works of over 30 artists, some of whom - such as Leonora Carrington, Maeve Gilmore, and Torpedo the Ark favourite Aleksandra Waliszewska [5] - I am familiar with; whilst others - including Jean-Marie Appriou, Leonardo Devito, Graham Little - I am now grateful to have discovered. 

 

 

III. 

 

To be honest, as much as I love Rebecca - and as interested as I am in the folk and fairy tale tradition which more obviously inspires many of the works in this exhibition [6] - I felt compelled to attend the show more for the opportunity to see (in the decomposing flesh, as it were) one of Maggi Hambling's portraits of much-loved (and much-missed) Sebastian Horsley [7]: 

"Finally, the viewer is led downstairs through an arch into the 'Underworld', where Maggi Hambling's portrait of Sebastian Horsley presides over the space, introducing themes such as the conflict between morality and religion, resistance to authority, and a questioning of established traditions." [8]

 

Whether we are invited to imagine Horsley as the character of Maxim de Winter (crossed with Dorian Gray), I don't know - but it's a nice idea, I think, and not one that would displease Horsley who, like de Winter, was a passionate floraphile (although not, as far as I'm aware, a wife killer).

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley, curated  by Daniel Malarkey (24 Jan - 8 March 2025) at Alison Jacques, 22 Cork Street, London W1. For full details and to view all the artworks included in the show, click here.

 

[2] Like Alice Inggs, I'm tempted to question whether Malarkey's claim about Rebecca being a once favourite book that exerted a subconscious influence on his thinking when assembling this exhibition is "strictly true or a retroactive application to works very much open to allegory", but it doesn't really matter either way.

      And, as Inggs later concedes, you can certainly find more than a few "curious (and apparently incidental) parallels between passages from the book and the artworks [...] wherever you walk, there is Rebecca: the windows open to the sea, the white cats, the uncanny figures, the wrought-iron gates, the driftwood and rope, the rhododendrons, the antique wallpaper, the almost-silhouettes, the subtly erotic scenes, the sense of expectation …" 

      See her (cleverly titled) review, 'Psyche For Sore Eyes', in The World of Interiors (7 Feb 2025): click here. 

 

[3] For a two part post published in November 2024, in which I explore my own memories of Manderley,  please click here and/or here. 

      Interested readers can also find several other posts written on the work of Daphne du Maurier on Torpedo the Ark; simply go to labels and click on her name. Many of these posts are also reproduced on the official Daphne du Maurier website: click here.  

 

[4] This press release, written by Bella Kesoyan, can be found on the Alison Jacques website: click here.

 

[5] See the post entitled 'Why I Love Aleksandra Waliszewska' (13 Oct 2023): click here.

 

[6] To quote from the press release once more: 

      "All the works in the show challenge conventional notions of fairytales as children's stories and idealised narratives. While often adopting the visual language of magical landscapes, imaginary beings, and extraordinary human powers, the exhibition also explores darker and complex readings of this age-old genre." 

      That being so, one might have just as easily called this show Last Night I Dreamed of Angela Carter and one wonders how familiar Daniel Malarkey is with The Bloody Chamber (1979), her collection of ten short stories in which, to use Carter's own phrase, she extracts the latent content from traditional tales including 'Beauty and the Beast' and 'Little Red Riding Hood'.     

 

[7] As Emily Spicer notes: 

      "Hambling painted Horsley several times after his death, imagining, it would seem, his decomposing body, his likeness falling from his bones to reveal the white skull beneath. In all of these paintings he is disintegrating, melting or dissolving into oblivion. Hambling has said that Horsley’s life was an elaborate rehearsal for death and we feel her coming to terms with this, searching, unflinchingly, for an image that reconciles this tragic irony." 

      See her review of The Quick and the Dead exhibition at the Jerwood Gallery, Hastings (20 Oct 2018 - 6 Jan 2019) on the Studio International website: click here. This show included Sebastian Horsley VIII (2011). 

      See also the post on Torpedo the Ark entitled 'The Picture of Sebastian Horsley' (6 Sept 2019), in which I muse on Hambling's 2011 portrait of Horsley: click here. 

 

[8] Bella Kesoyan, press release for Last Night I Dreamt of Manderley, as linked to above in note 3.

 

 

This post is for Ann Willmore, who encouraged me to write it. 

 

 

A Philosophical Reflection on Getting Older

Portrait of the Artist as a 

Darkly Enlightened Philosopher

(SA 2025) [1]

 

"Darling, am I looking old? / Tell me dear I must be told ..." [2]

 

I. 

 

You know you're getting older not just when another birthday looms on the horizon - each candle on the cake essentially another nail in the coffin - but when, following the presentation of a short paper at Kant's Cave [3], a young woman approaches not to discreetly slip you her phone number or ask for your email address, but to inform you of the fact that you remind her of her father.

 

Still, as a friend said with a smile, at least she didn't say grandmother ... 

 

 

II.

 

Many people like to believe that there are advantages to growing older; that experience makes one a little wiser, for example. But this is bullshit: and even if it were true, who wants a smidgen more wisdom when you can't see, can't run, can't breathe, and your hair has fallen out?

 

The fact is, most great works of philosophy were produced by thinkers in their mid-to-late 30s - Heidegger, for example, was 37 when Sein und Zeit was published - and whilst there are of course exceptions - such as Kant and his three Critiques - we can confidently say that there are very few works of significance written by thinkers over the age of 55 [4].  

 

As I'll be 62 next week - the same age as Wittgenstein when he died - that means I'm now way over the philosophical hill ... Still, at least I'm not buried beneath it.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The photo was taken on February 3rd 2025 at Kant's Cave (see note 2 below). I'm not sure if I look darkly enlightened, as intended, or simply like an old punk; one person described me as resembling a flamboyant East End gangster - i.e., a Kray brother dressed by Vivienne Westwood. 

 

[2] Lyrics from the X-Ray Spex song 'Age': click here to listen to it on a Peel Session (recorded 6 Nov 1978 and broadcast on the 13th of that month). 

 

[3] Kant's Cave is a monthly meeting organised by Philosophy for All and held in a first floor function room at the the famous Two Chairmen pub, in Wesminster. The paper addressed the question: What is the Dark Enlightenment?

 

[4] See the post by Eric Schwitzgebel analysing the question of what the average age is when philosophers complete their most influential work: The Splintered Mind (12 May 2010): click here. 

From Kant's Cave to Nietzsche's Kindergarten (Confessions of a Children's Entertainer)

Me in my role as a punk children's entertainer 

(c.1985)

 

Now watch closely little girl as I prick your red balloon 

with a safety pin ...

 

I. 

 

Last night I gave a short talk to the crowd gathered at Kant's Cave; a monthly meeting organised by Philosophy for All [1] and held in a first floor function room at the the famous Two Chairmen pub, in Wesminster [2].

 

The paper addressed the question of what constitutes dark enlightenment [3], so perhaps not ideal material for "shopkeepers, Christians, cows, females, Englishmen, and other democrats" [4] - or indeed young children. 

Nevertheless, I was delighted to discover that one of the people Zooming into the event was watching it accompanied by her precocious four-year-old son, who was equally fascinated by my public persona and appearance as he was by the contents of the paper itself:  

 

Mummy, why does he talk so fast? Why is he wearing such funny clothes? What's a zombie apocalypse?

 

 

II. 

 

Deleuze says that children are born philosophers or, more exactly, natural Spinozans; by which I think he means they instinctively know how to map real (rather than imaginary) trajectories and experiment with immediate (rather than representational) affects. 

 

That may or may not be the case. 

 

But what is undoubtedly true is that I should never have abandoned (my very short-lived) career as a punk children's entertainer in the mid-1980s, in order to become a failed artist and spectacularly unsuccessful poet-philosopher. 

 

For it seems I have a real knack for amusing little ones (and corrupting young minds in the manner of Socrates), whereas I have strictly limited talents as a grown up intellectual and adult educator. 

 

Not that I'm unhappy about this: for like Nietzsche, I think it is only by remaining a little childlike ourselves that we remain close also to the flowers, the grass, and to butterflies ... [5]

         

 

Notes

 

[1] Founded by Anja Steinbauer in 1998, Philosophy for All is an independent non-profit organisation that welcomes everyone with a love of wisdom - whatever their intellectual background or IQ - to attend its various events; walks, talks, film screenings, etc. Click here to visit the PfA website for full details.

 

[2] The Two Chairman is thought to be the oldest public house in Westminster and is housed in an 18th-century Grade II listed building in a part of Town at one time as notorious for cockfighting as political intrigue.        

 

[3] I published a four-part series of posts on dark enlightenment on Torpedo the Ark in July 2024: click here for part one, on the politics of hate; here for part two, on exiting the present; here for part three, on the zombie apocalypse; and/or here, for part four, on rejecting universalism. These four posts essentially formed the heart of the paper given at Kant's Cave.

[4] Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1990), 'Expeditions of an Untimely Man', 38, p. 102. 

 

[5] See Nietzsche writing in Human, All Too Human, Vol. II, Part 2 ('The Wanderer and His Shadow'), section 51. 

 

 

All That Jazz

Theodor Adorno, D. H. Lawrence, 

and Sebastian Horsley: they fucking hate jazz

 

'Jazz is the false liquidation of art [...] the mechanical reproduction of a regressive moment ...' [1]  

 

 

I.

 

Sebastian Horsley famously didn't like jazz and refused to believe that other people liked it either; "once they're in Ronnie Scott's, they're asleep like everybody else" [2]. 

 

Of course, Horsley is not alone in hating jazz and certainly not the first person to express his contempt for the genre. One recalls that Adorno, for example, wrote a number of essays that expressed his negative evaluation of jazz as an art form and dismissed the claims made on its behalf by exponents and admirers. 

 

In brief, for Adorno, jazz was not only formulaic and banal, but it also lacked moral-aesthetic truth value and was essentially alienating and dehumanising (and not in a good way). Mostly, however, he despised it for being popular; a commodity born of modern mass society and the music industry. 

 

Although Adorno lived until 1969 - and despite the fact that jazz became increasingly complex and avant-garde, deviating significantly from its own origins as an upbeat genre to which the Bright Young Things of the so-called Jazz Age could dance the night away - he never revised his opinion of it.   

 

 

II. 

Another famous critic of jazz and popular modern culture in general - including the cinema and the radio - was the English writer D. H. Lawrence, who, in many ways, anticipated what Adorno would say, albeit using less openly Marxist terminology [3].

For although Lawrence was from a working-class background and frequently expressed concern with how he might appeal to as wide a readership as possible, he often used the word popular negatively to denote cultural forms that, in his view, lacked the spiritual and intellectual value that he believed genuine art possessed. 

 

As he grew older, Lawrence became increasingly critical of popular culture and the "bulk of our popular amusements" [4], including gramophone records; famously breaking one on Frieda's head in a notorious incident of domestic violence after she played it over and over, driving him into a rage with its dreary jazz trombone and crude sexual innuendo [5].

 

Does this make Lawrence and Adorno reactionary cultural elitists? Maybe. At the very least, we can agree that their views are out of tune with more informed opinion on the subject of jazz and popular culture - although Horsley would certainly have been sympathetic.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Adorno wrote that "Jazz is the false liquidation of art" in his 1967 essay 'Perennial Fashion - Jazz'. It can be found in Critical Theory and Society: A Reader, ed. Stephen Eric Bronner and Douglas MacKay Kellner (Routlege, 1990).

      He described jazz as the "mechanical reproduction of a regressive moment" in his much earlier text, 'On the Fetish Character in Music and Regression of Listening' (1938), which can be found in his book The Culture Industry: Selected Essays on Mass Culture, ed. J. M. Bernstein (Routledge, 1991).     

 

[2] For Sebastian's highly amusing take on punk, jazz, and Notting Hill contra Soho, click here.   

[3] See Gemma Moss, ‘Popular Culture’, in The Cambridge Companion to D. H. Lawrence and the Arts, ed Catherine Brown and Susan Reid (Edinburgh University Press, 2020), pp. 145-159. 

      As Moss rightly notes, Lawrence and Adorno were both living in a period when European culture was becoming increasingly Americanised and transforming into commercial mass culture with its standardised models of entertainment generating mechanical responses in the audience. In other words, both Lawrence and Adorno believed that popular art forms - such as jazz - create a public who become used to a limited range of emotions and ideas.

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'Pornography and Obscenity', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 244. 

 

[5] The record - 'Empty Bed Blues (Columbia, 1928) - was by the African-American singer Bessie Smith, with Charlie Green on trombone and Porter Grainger on piano. Smith was extremely popular during the Jazz Age and is now regarded not only as one of the greatest singers of her era, but a major influence on many other blues singers and jazz vocalists. 

      For an interesting essay on Lawrence and Bessie Smith, see Fiona Becket, 'A Brand New Grind: D. H. Lawrence, Manliness and the Blues', in the Journal of D. H. Lawrence Studies - click here to access as an online pdf. 

      Readers who wish to listen to the track can do so by clicking here.  

 

Lachrymae rerum: Refections on a Painting by Joan Snyder (and in Memory of Marianne Faithfull)

 

Joan Snyder: Apple Tree Mass (1983) 

Oil, acrylic, paper mache, wood, paper, cloth, 

pencil and ink on linen (24 x 72 in) 

 

 

Yesterday, I went to see the Joan Snyder exhibition - Body & Soul - at the Thaddaeus Ropac gallery (Ely House, London) [1].

 

To be honest, I can't say I'm a fan of her canvases: they're a bit much for me; too much feeling; too much introspection; too much paint; too much of everything really. 

 

However, I do admire Snyder for finding her own distinct style of painting. Via a unique use of brush strokes, for example, she exploits the narrative potential of abstraction, developing a new form of artistic expression during a career that spans more than 60 years. 

 

And I do like the fact that, when she really feels the need to do so, she's prepared to incorporate lines of text into her work. For there are times when things simply can't be said with paint; just as one discovers, as a writer, that there are limits to language, obliging one to scream or punch the wall. 

Thus, the picture that most interested was one entitled Apple Tree Mass (1983), which made use of the beautiful Latin phrase Lachrymae rerum - translated by the artist as the 'tearfulness of things' [2]. 

 

I was still thinking about this phrase and what it might mean, when, just as the day turned to evening, I heard the sad news of Marianne Faithfull's death and immediately her sixties hit came to mind, further encouraging thoughts of tears [3] ... and a longing for a Mars bar [4].  

 

 

Ad in Cash Box (19 Sept 1964)

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The exhibition is on at Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, Ely House, 37 Dover Street, Mayfair, London W1, until 5 Feb 2025 (having opened on 28 Nov 2024). Full details of the exhibition and a short filmed interview with Snyder can be found on the gallery website: click here.   

[2] This phrase - open to interpretation - derives from Book I, line 462 of Virgil's Aeneid (c. 29-19 BC), where it is written as Lacrimae rerum. I'm guessing Snyder may have spelt the first word as she did thinking of Frederic Leighton's painting Lachrymae (1894-95). 

 

[3] 'As Tears Go By' was written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, at the instigation of their manager at the time Andrew Loog Oldham. It is unclear whether it was composed especially for 17-year-old Marianne Faithfull or not and over the years she both confirmed and denied this story, whilst acknowledging that the song suited her so perfectly that it may as well have been. 

      It was released as a single in the UK, sung by Faithfull, in 1964, and became a top ten hit, launching her singing career: click here to play.  

[4] See Jack Whatley's article in Far Out Magazine (27 July 2021) which attempts to provide the truth behind the story involving Marianne Faithfull, Mick Jagger, and a Mars bar: click here.  

Why Cleaning Headstones is Gravely Mistaken

Shaun Tookey at work on a grave shown before and after

Images: @thegravecleaner

 

 

I sincerely wish Shaun Tookey - who has found fame on social media as a part-time grave cleaner - all the luck in the world and congratulate him on being able to now afford his first home due to his hard work scrubbing hundreds of headstones [1].

 

And I'm pleased that this Essex tree surgeon by trade finds the work deeply satisfying as well as financially rewarding. After all, most people want economic security, a roof over their heads, and to find fulfilment in what they do.

 

However, I think it gravely mistaken to restore the final resting place of a loved one to a pristine state. For the dead deserve to dwell in a place that has been transformed by the passing of time and illuminated by darkness.      

 

The reason that people find old graveyards so beautiful is in large part due to the natural decay even of stone and the gathering of moss. A pristine grave belongs in a showroom, not a cemetery; the very whiteness of the marble is somehow offensive in its sterility. 

 

And, if I may be so bold as to speak on behalf of the dear departed once more, it's impossible to ever really rest in peace in a grave that shines and sparkles; that lacks the soft lustre or sheen of antiquity that Tanizaki speaks of [2].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mr Tookey shares the results of his graveyard labours on social media, where, amazingly, he has gained over 34,000 followers. His handle is @thegravecleaner.

      For those interested in Shaun's services, visit his website: thegravecleaner.com Readers might like to note that a deep clean headstone restoration starts at £150 whilst for the full works - including decorative aggregates for the graves - expect to pay between £350 and £450. 

 

[2] See Junichirō Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows (Vintage Books, 2001), p. 20, where he condemns the Western obsession with cleanliness and attempts to eradicate every speck of dirt or sign of decay and ageing.   

 

 

On the (Lost) Art of Swearing

The Filth and the Fury: 

Sex Pistols x D. H. Lawrence

 

Obscene language ... what language is that? I speak nothing but the fucking English language. 

And if that's obscene then tough shit. - Johnny Rotten [1]

 

I. 

 

Whilst their manager Malcolm McLaren tried to package the band as a combination of sex, style, and subversion, the press had other ideas following the Bill Grundy incident (see below) and would often discuss them in relation to another trio of terms beginning with the letter S: swearing, spitting, and scandalous behaviour. 

It's the first of these things - i.e., the use of language regarded as coarse, blasphemous, or obscene - that I wish to briefly touch on here with reference both to the Sex Pistols and, firstly, to the writer D. H. Lawrence ...

 

 

II. 

 

Following publication of Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928), Lawrence conceded that he would henceforth be known as the author who (re-)introduced the so-called obscene words into English literature [2]. 

 

But despite the abuse he received for this, Lawrence insisted on the necessity of having published his book unexpurgated and maintained that "the words that shock so much at first don't shock at all after a while" [3]. 

 

And that's not because we are corrupted by the words and quickly become depraved; rather, says Lawrence, it's because "the words merely shocked the eye, they never shocked the mind at all" [4]. 

 

He continues: "People with no minds may go on being shocked, but they don't matter. People with minds realise that they aren't shocked, and never really were; and they experience a sense of relief." [5]

 

For Lawrence, words such as shit, fuck, cunt, and arse, refer to perfectly natural acts and to organs we all possess: "Obscenity only comes in when the mind despises and fears the body ..." [6] and so it is the mind we have to liberate, bringing it into harmony with the body and its potencies. Otherwise, we will fall into a kind of madness: like Swift [7].

 

Thus, whether one agrees or disagrees with Lawrence's use of four-letter words throughout Lady C. - and whether one thinks his attempt to cleanse language and free the mind works or fails - it cannot be said that he was merely attempting to épater le bourgeois. 

 

Obviously, it was a novel "written in defiance of convention" [8], but the ridiculous desire simply to shock the respectable middle-class and offend slow-minded and mob-indignant members of the public, was not Lawrence's intention. 

 

The bold (if slightly naive) attempt to give back the body its own phallic language and to startle individuals out of their word-prudery - to remind us that the word arse "is as much god as the word face" [9] - is an attempt to keep society sane.      

 

 

III.

 

I'm not sure that the Sex Pistols shared Lawrence's philosophical concern with revaluing language and preserving social wellbeing, etc. Nevertheless, these foul-mouthed yobs as they were branded, managed to place the question of swearing back on the agenda for discussion - not once but twice.      

 

The first occasion followed what is known as the Bill Grundy incident, in December 1976; a televised early evening interview which, as Paul Gorman says, has attained folkloric proportions within the cultural imagination:

 

"The impact of [Steve] Jones closing the encounter by calling Grundy 'a fucking rotter' - in the process uttering the expletive for only the third time in four decades of British television broadcasting - was to make the Sex Pistols both media demons and free speech causes célèbres." [10]  

Amusingly, one viewer claimed that he had been so outraged by the incident that he had kicked in the screen of his new £380 colour television set, though I suspect he would be one of those mindless morons that Lawrence describes. 

 

Still, it demonstrates that even fifty years after the publication of Lady Chatterley's Lover - and sixteen years following the Chatterley trial at the Old Bailey - expletives could still cause shock and outrage amongst some sections of the Great British Public.   

 

 

IV. 

 

The second time the Sex Pistols brought the question of what does and does not constitute offensive language to public attention was in November 1977, following release of their debut album, Never Mind the Bollocks ... [11]

 

The album, banned from sale by several highstreet retailers - including Boots, Woolworth's, and WH Smith - was available at Virgin Records, including the Nottingham branch where, on 9 November, the police arrested the store manager, Chris Searle, for displaying promotional material which included the word 'bollocks' in the window, after previously warning him on several occasions not to do so.  

 

Searle was charged with contravening the Indecent Advertisement Act (1889) and found himself in front of three local magistrates two weeks later. 

 

What might have remained a small matter, became a story of great national interest when Richard Branson - owner of the Virgin Record Stores and the Virgin Records label that the Sex Pistols were signed to - hired the famous barrister John Mortimer QC to (successfully) defend the case.

 

By calling a professor of English at the University of Nottingham as an expert witness, Mortimer was able to show that bollocks in the context of the album title clearly meant nonsense and derived from an Old English term for the kind of rubbish spoken by clergymen in their sermons and had no obscene sexual meaning, even if, etymologically, the term referred to the testicles. 

The chairman of the court hearing reluctantly concluded that as much as he and his colleagues wholeheartedly deplored the 'vulgar exploitation of the worst instincts of human nature for the purchases of commercial profits', they must find the defendant not guilty of any crime. 

 

Helped in part by the publicity surrounding the case, Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols topped the charts and quickly went gold; Punk? Call it filthy lucre - a prime example of how to generate cash from chaos, as Malcolm might say. 

 

V.

 

Of course, all of this is a long, long time ago and we live today in a very different world from the one in which Lawrence wrote or even the one in which the Sex Pistols recorded. 

 

Indeed, one is almost tempted to speak now of the lost art of swearing as a once precious verbal resource has almost entirely been robbed of its potency. Rendered banal through endless repetition, the word fuck, for example, no longer shocks, no longer offends, no longer amuses, no longer endears. 

  

That's not to say, however, that the present doesn't have its own list of taboo terms and one smiles to see the content warnings given at the start of TV sitcoms from the 1970s: discriminatory language is what gets Gen Z viewers clutching their pearls and calling for the morality police, not foul language.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have slightly altered the transcript of an interview that Rotten gave to Dutch TV in 1977. 

      The interviewer asks (rather strangely) about infamous language and although Rotten twice repeats this term in his answer, one suspects that he was aware that the interviewer intended to say obscene language, although, one cannot be quite sure; the Dutch translation that appears on screen is schuttingtaal, which is usually given in English as 'jargon' or 'secret language'. 

      Click here to watch on YouTube.

[2] As he writes in his 'Introduction to Pansies' (1929): "I am abused most of all for using the so-called 'obscene' words [...] all the old words that belong to the body below the navel [...]" - words that cause the censor-morons to get excited and allow policemen to think they have the right to arrest you. See D. H. Lawrence, The Poems, Vol I., ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 664.

 

[3-5] D. H. Lawrence, 'A  Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover', in Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 307.

 

[6] Ibid., p. 309. 

      In his 'Introduction to Pansies', Lawrence writes: "What is obvious is that the [obscene] words [...] have been dirtied by the mind, by unclean mental association. The words themselves are clean, so are the things to which they apply. But the mind drags in a filthy association, calls up some repulsive emotion. Well then, cleanse the mind, that is the real job." See p. 664 of The Poems, Vol. I (2013). 

 

[7] See Lawrence's remarks on Swift and his horror at the fact that his beloved Celia defecates in 'Introduction to Pansies' ... pp. 665-666. But see also my post entitled 'Celia Shits! Notes on Jonathan Swift's "The Lady's Dressing Room" and (Alleged) Coprophobia' (2 April 2024): click here.     

 

[8] D. H. Lawrence, 'A  Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover' ... p. 334

 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to Pansies' ... p. 664.

 

[10] Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 339. 

      For those readers who aren't familiar with the details of the Bill Grundy incident, let me briefly summarise: After Queen cancelled their appearance on the live television show Today show at the last minute, the Sex Pistols were offered the spot in order to promote their debut single, 'Anarchy in the UK', and explain what punk rock was all about. 

      Things started badly and quickly got worse when it was clear that Grundy was hostile and dismissive of the band and that the latter - particularly guitarist Steve Jones - were not prepared to take his bullshit, nor listen to his creepy sexual innuendo when speaking to a female member of their entourage called Siouxsie Sioux. Suggesting to her that they might 'meet afterwards' triggered Jones into calling him a 'dirty sod' and a 'dirty old man'. 

      Stupidly, Grundy then challenged Jones to 'say something outrageous' - which he did; calling Grundy a "dirty bastard" and a "dirty fucker". Grundy responded, "What a clever boy!" to which Jones hilariously replied, "What a fucking rotter!" 

      Predictably, the phone lines to the Thames switchboard lit up and the national press had a field day. Grundy was suspended by Thames and his career effectively ended. The Sex Pistols were fired shortly afterwards by their record label EMI and were now branded as public enemies. 

      The interview - click here - has become one of the most requested TV clips of all time. It will be noted that Johnny Rotten having muttered the word 'shit' prior to Jones's outburst almost apologises at first for his use of a 'rude word'.    

 

[11] The album was originally going to be called God Save the Sex Pistols, but the title was changed based on a phrase favoured by Steve Jones, which, as Rotten explained, was a popular working-class expression meaning 'stop talking rubbish'.

 

 

Destroy! Notes on a Punk Imperative

D. H. Rotten in a Seditionaries Destroy shirt [1]

 

 

I. 

 

If, like me, you are keen to promote the idea of D. H. Lawrence as a Sex Pistol, then one of the key ideas that might be discussed in order to lend credence to such a thesis is the concept of destruction ...

 

 

II. 

 

As I'm sure many readers will know, 'Anarchy in the UK' famously ends with a call to destroy; not so much anything in particular as everything in general, although earlier in the same song Rotten identifies the passer-by as a prime example of the sort of person he wishes to eliminate [2]. 

 

Funny enough, Lawrence too dislikes non-combatants; those gentle readers who refuse to actively engage with his texts are encouraged to curl up with books by other authors [3]. He imagines his ideal reader as a rampageous and ferocious reader; a surly, rabid reader; a hell-cat of a reader - not one who meekly passes by or turns the page on those passages that might shock or offend them [4].  

 

 

III.

 

Lawrence advocates for the necessity of destruction not only if one aims, as an artist, to create a new vision of the world via the liberation of what he terms chaos [5], but as one who actively fights, like Oliver Mellors, to preserve the tenderness of life against those forces of mechanised greed that negate and deaden. 

 

And, like Nietzsche, Lawrence also relates the process of becoming and self-overcoming to destruction: "The man I know myself to be must be destroyed before the true man I am can exist." [6] 

 

 

IV.

 

The notion of the creative potential within destruction is something Malcolm McLaren will later echo when defending the Sex Pistols from critics, such as Giovanni Dadomo, who accuse them of nihilism [7]. 

 

But McLaren, as someone who passionately subscribes to the idea of flamboyant failure [8], is also keen to destroy one ideal above all others: success. If Rotten hates those who pass by on the other side of the road, McLaren hates those who strive to achieve what they posit as a worthy goal or realise what they imagine to be a positive outcome.   

 

And Lawrence too hates those such as the rich, young, Irish playwright Michaelis, cheerfully prostituting himself to the bitch goddess Success, as she roams "snarling and protective" [9] around his heels. 

 

For what is benign success at last, but another form of nothingness?

 

 

Notes

 

[1] This image is based upon an original photo of Johnny Rotten taken by Dennis Morris in 1977, which, along with many other great images, can be found in Destroy: The Sex Pistols, 1977: Jubilee Edition, by Dennis Morris (Creation Books, 2002). 

      The Destroy shirt was designed by Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood for sale in their shop - then named Seditionaries - at 430 King's Road, in 1977. Made of muslin, it features extended sleeves, with strait-jacket clasps and D rings and is screen-printed with a design showing an inverted crucifixion scene, a swastika, a Jamie Reid drawing of a Royal Mail postage stamp, and the word destroy written in capital letters. The bottom of the shirt contains lyrics from 'Anarchy in the UK'. 

      As Paul Gorman rightly notes, "this new top [...] epitomised the creative exchange conducted between McLaren and Westwood: her technical daring combined with his graphic understanding and political discourse to produce the most surprising outcomes existing way beyond the purview of fashion". See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 348. 

 

[2] 'Anarchy in the UK', by the Sex Pistols, was released as a debut single in November 1976 on EMI Records. It can also be found on their album Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (Virgin Records, 1977). The single (featuring 'I Wanna Be Me' on the B-side) reached number 38 on the UK singles chart. It's essentially a punk call to arms. Click here to watch the band performing the song.

 

[3] See the letter to Carlo Linati (22 Jan 1925) in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence Vol. V, ed. James T. Boulton and Lindeth Vasey (Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 201, where he writes: "I can't bear art that you can walk around and admire [...] whoever reads me will be in the thick of the scrimmage, and if he doesn't like it - if he wants a safe seat in the audience - let him read someone else." 

 

[4] See D. H. Lawrence, Mr Noon, ed. Lindeth Vasey (Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 205.    

[5] See the recent post entitled 'On the Art of Destruction and the Creative Potential Within Chaos' (21 Jan 2025): click here. 

[6] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Reality of Peace', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 34. It's unfortunate that Lawrence relates his thinking on the self to truth (authenticity), but the point remains that destruction is the key. 

[7] In November 1976, the BBC invited the Sex Pistols to be interviewed on the current affairs programme, Nationwide. Along with the regular presenters, they also brought in music journalist Giovanni Dadomo, to challenge the band. He dismissed their music as being derivative and asserted that destruction for its own sake is dull and doesn't offer any hope. McLaren countered by saying: "You have to destroy in order to create [...] You have to break it down and build it up again in a different form."

      Readers interested in knowing more can visit the BBC Culture website: click here. 

 

[8] McLaren picked up his radical idea of failure from one of his tutors at art college; see Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren ... pp. 48-49.

 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 21. 

 

 

For earlier posts in this series on D. H. Lawrence as Sex Pistol, click here, here, and here.

D. H. Lawrence & Malcolm McLaren: Sex Pistols

McLaren & Lawrence outside SEX [1]

 

 

I.

 

If, like me, you are keen to promote the idea of D. H. Lawrence as a Sex Pistol, then it's surely important to show how his artistic project, like McLaren's, shared a similar aim: namely, to confront the English with the one thing they feared most: sex ...

 

II. 

 

"It is a pity that sex is such an ugly little word", says Lawrence in a late article for the Sunday Dispatch [2], though this hadn't prevented it from becoming a key term in his vocabulary. Indeed, his critics - and they were legion - accused him of being sex obsessed. 

 

I don't think that's true. But it's certainly the case that sex was central not only to Lawrence's libidinally material philosophy, but also to his politics of desire. 

 

For sex, said Lawence, brings people into touch and thus counters the alienation produced by modern industrial capitalism and "perpetually interferes with the nice money-making schemes" [3] of those who feed off this system [4].        

 

Lawrence's democracy of touch - a kind of immanent utopia that exists now/here in the real bonds formed between lovers and rests upon a new economy of bodies and their pleasures - is quite literally fucked into existence; for men and women having been made new after the act of coition, "wish to make the world anew" [5]. 

 

That's why Oliver Mellors - the gamekeeping protagonist who fucks Lady Chatterley every which way from Sunday - declares with naive sincerity that if men and women only copulated with warm hearts then "'everything would come alright'" [6].

 

Whether Malcolm McLaren subscribed to such a romantic view is debatable. But he had certainly read Lady Chatterley's Lover [7] and one would imagine that, like many who were born of the countercultural radicalism of the 1960s, McLaren would regard Lawrence as one of those sleeping on the right side of the bed ...

 

 

III. [8]  

 

Quickly bored even with his own projects and uncomfortable with the idea of commercial success, in the spring of 1974, McLaren decided to radically refurbish 430 King's Road and rebrand the tiny shop as Sex: 

 

'"The one thing that scares the English. They are all afraid of that word.'" [9] 

 

The façade included a 4-foot sign of pink foam rubber letters spelling out the new name in capitals. The walls of the interior of the boutique were also lined with pinkish foam rubber and covered with graffitied lines taken from erotic literature and Valerie Solanas's SCUM Manifesto (1967). Latex curtains, red carpeting, and various sexual paraphernalia used decoratively helped to create the sleazy (somewhat intimidating) look of an authentic sex shop. 

 

Sex sold fetish and bondage gear supplied by existing specialist labels, as well as designs by McLaren and Westwood which were intended to be provocative rather than seductive. These included T-shirts printed with images of a nude adolescent smoking a cigarette; homosexual cowboys, bare female breasts; and - perhaps most notoriously - a leather mask of the kind worn by the Cambridge Rapist. Lines taken from pornographic texts were also often added to the designs, as were various Situationist slogans from May '68 and references to some of Malcolm's heroes, such as the playwright Joe Orton.

 

 

IV. 

 

Despite the fact that both Lawrence and McLaren wilfully outraged English society and openly fought against censorship and bullying authority, I'm not sure that Lawrence would have been a customer at Sex had he been a young man living in London in the mid-1970s, rather than during the Edwardian period.

 

In fact, he would probably be horrified by McLaren's antics and dismiss him as just another grand pervert guilty of getting his sex in his head; a man full of ineffable conceit and boundless ego. And in this he'd amusingly anticipate Johnny Rotten's opinion ... [10]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The photo of McLaren outside his King's Road store was taken in 1976, when he was aged 30. The photo of Lawrence was taken when he would have been around the same age, in 1915.   

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'Sex Appeal', in Late Essay and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 144.

[3] Ibid., p. 145.  

[4] That said, Lawrence was conscious of the fact that - as Deleuze and Guattari put it - sex is also present in "the way a bureaucrat fondles his records, a judge administers justice, a businessman causes money to circulate ..." In other words, unconscious libidinal investments bear directly upon the socio-historical field. See Anti-Oedipus, trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane (The Athlone Press, 1994), p. 293. 

 

[5] D. H. Lawrence, Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 136. 

[6] D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires (Cambridge University Press, 1983), p. 206.  

[7] In a list of his top ten books compiled for The Guardian in February 2000 - click here - McLaren places Lady Chatterley's Lover at number 7 and describes it as blissfully romantic. 

      For a post in which I discuss the McLaren-Lawrence relationship (published 30 May 2024) click here.

[8] I have taken material for this section from an earlier post on TTA entitled 'Passion Ends in Fashion' (1 December 2023): click here.

 

[9] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 220. 

      Lawrence places the blame for this morbid and at times hysterical fear of sex amongst the English on the arrival of veneral disease in Europe during the Renaissance period. Due to the great shock of syphilis and its ghastly consequences, the Elizabethans, says Lawrence, came to regard their own bodies with horror and began to privilege spiritual-mental life over instinctive-intuitive being. 

      See D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to These Paintings', in Late Essays and Articles ... pp. 182-217. And see also my discussion of this astonishing essay by Lawrence in the post entitled 'On Art and Syphilis' (17 September 2018): click here.  

 

[10] It should be noted that I don't share this opinion and think it absurd for Lawrence to group together and dismiss so many other arists and thinkers - including Goethe, Kant, Rousseau, Byron, Baudelaire, Wilde and Marcel Proust - in the manner that he does. One is tempted to paraphrase one of his own lines and remind him that what is perverted to one man is the laughter of genius to another.  

      See my post on D. H. Lawrence and the grand perverts (21 March 2017): click here. 

 

 

For related posts, please click here, here, and here. 

 

 

In fond memory of Malcolm on what would have been his 79th birthday.