Category Archives: Art

Amnesia

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calligraphy-for-wedding-in-london-uk

Addressed

I t was perhaps several months later when I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed in Dorchester. I had forgotten everything – Mogwash, the bottle of greed, my dear friend Sebastian and the fact that I was merely a character from a fictional blog. The doctors spent many hours trying to help me regain my identity, all seemed hopeless… I had been found wandering, dazed and confused in The Booze Bucket – purveyors of fine wines and dubious ciders. Chillingly, I had a fatal head wound and a not unattractive limp.
Nationwide television appeals pleading for friends or relatives to come forward to identify me and take me home proved fruitless. It appeared that I had not been reported missing.
To pass the time I spent many happy afternoons in the hospital craft room teaching myself the ancient forgotten skills of calligraphy; hour upon hour would pass whilst I sat at a desk addressing colourful envelopes to imaginary people with made up addresses.
Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE,

wedding-calligraphy-for-london-bride-uk

Addressed

seemed convinced that clues to my identity/hometown/bottle of greed were to be found in my inky scribblings, I had no reason to persuade him otherwise.

All About Art

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‘The moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist, and becomes a dull or an amusing craftsman, an honest or dishonest tradesman.’

‘Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has ever known.’

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) The Soul of Man under Socialism

‘They have degraded the visible arts into the obvious arts, and the one thing not worth looking at is the obvious.’

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) The Critic as Artist

A Moment of Pure Farce (Tales from Luddley-cum-Mogwash, part 7)

21 Replies
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Rage

Desperate attempts to engage my new audience fellow Mogwashians in darkly humorous Boltanski-esque projects, although brilliant, proved to be completely and utterly futile, the last of these projects almost fatally so.
One fateful day in May, I was once again attempting to enlist Sebastian’s help with what I considered to be an amusing artistic pursuit featuring a box of broken glass, a tube of superglue and three cryptic text messages. Sebastian later described my ‘peculiar activities’ to the East Sussex Constabulary as being, ‘gratuitously self-indulgent and devoid of any serious theoretical or philosophical merit’,

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Rage

going on to claim that my, ‘continuous and ludicrous characterisation’, of him on my, ‘grubby little website’, had caused him, ‘significant embarrassment’.
My offer to bottle his rage, turning it into an eye-catching ornament for his living room had so overwhelmed him with gratitude, that in his haste to offer thanks he slipped and inadvertently bashed me over the head with an empty Campari bottle….as I sat by the river on my weather-proof jacket, trying to dislodge a stone from my Wellington boot.

21 June 2007

Newspaper Extract 09/03/2025

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….Scarlet Blue actually exists, but an understanding of her work leads one to believe that the possibility of ‘Bottled Greed’ existing is highly likely another of Blues’s fictions. It would not be the first time that Blue courted controversy during her dubious yet short lived career proving herself to be a duplicitous character.
In May 2007 she went missing and was believed to have drowned in a river close to her home in Luddley-cum-Mogwash; her weather-proof jacket, walking cane and one wellington boot were found on the river bank alongside a discarded Campari bottle. Foul play was originally suspected and a local man was arrested….

19 May 2007

Mogs Mill

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Mogs Mill, to be found north west of Mogwash, is a tight knit prosperous community where the mental health problems of the rich and illustrious are referred to affectionately as ‘eccentricities’ and go largely unreported to the wider world. Indeed, this small rural enclave has become something of a safe-haven for disenchanted entrepreneurs and dispirited millionaires; for example, the obsessive compulsive disorder of one particular resident went unnoticed for such a time that he managed to block pave 42 acres of arable farmland before concerned neighbours raised the alarm.
Richard Etherington-Smythe, originally an Estate Agent/Mortgage Consultant/Property Developer/Pension Schemer from South Kensington, was later found roaming the forest unaccompanied, attempting to manicure huge swathes of ancient woodland with little more than a pair of secateurs, daisy print gardening gloves, and a certificate of commendation in rustic handicrafts. Consumed with a pathological fear of darkness, Mr Etherington-Smythe was also responsible for lighting up the night skies with 3,000 energy saving light bulbs festooned across an area of coppice that had been incorporated into his extensive back garden. This proved to be something of a distraction for pilots trying to land aircraft at nearby Gatwick airport…

18 May 2007

Easter at Mogwash Manor

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Glory

And so it came to pass that I considered myself to be something of an archetypal alchemist, a Shaman of the highest order, I was indeed a deity in demand; my alliterative alliterating appreciated from Adelaide to Alabama, Melbourne to Maidenhead, from Hollywood to Hollyoaks. From far and wide people were unravelling the clues from my writings, which would direct them to the heart of Mogwash in search of the elusive ‘Bottle of Greed’. I intended to assist my faithful followers in whichever way I could, to be close at hand when they made the exciting discovery that would change their lives forever. With this in mind I would often head out to the woods, marvellous mutt at heel, thermos and tupperware luncheon box in hand, so that I could sit in the bracken and await enthusiastic treasure hunters.
Sometimes no-one would pass by for several weeks, I would feel myself getting cramp in my right calf whilst losing all hope that the ‘Bottle of Greed’ would ever be discovered. My clues were obviously too obscure, too challenging, too mind-bendingly cryptic or perhaps just a bit too daft for my devoted disciples to decipher. Fortunately, through this fog of despondency, I managed to formulate yet another despotically devious plan. My genius, once again rose, like a phoenix from this ashes of despair…. yes, I had had another idea.

29 April 2007