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Art, ghosts, and fire
May. 18th, 2025 08:10 amEdinburgh's polishing itself up nicely for the summer.
One big pink tent was full of beauty companies on tour; you could go in and get contouring done, or your arms massaged, something like that. I'd have done it (I need to rethink my look and don't know where to begin) but the queues were ridiculous. Instead I popped off to the RSA exhibition on the Mound.
Hmm. Maybe that idiot formalist I knew on FB affected me more than I realised. I found myself almost immediately weary, dismissive of attempts to give me a message, or instances where figures have been plonked in an attempt to look mysteriously meaningful. Invoking narrative is of course a major part of art and generally I enjoy it. But I refuse to work harder than the artist towards the success of their painting. I found myself instead drawn to structures and textures that cooled my mind. The two most successful pieces for me included one depiction of a brownish autumnal wood, which looked unimpressive from across the room and then was magnificent close up, all branches and leaves and patterns, engrossing. The other was a clever figure study which caught light so cleverly that the almost unformed face of the figure itself seemed to be changing as it watched us watching it. Neither of these would work in my house, in fact the last one might give me nightmares, but the skill was uncanny.
On to Greyfriars Kirkyard. I never spent any time here when I was at Uni, because back then you couldn't move through the place without bumping into a drunk or a dealer. Now its vibe is much more pleasant, peaceful despite all the folk. Maybe the undesirables fled the infamous Mackenzie Poltergeist, whose activities never seem to abate. Sir George Mackenzie got his nickname 'Bluidy Mackenzie' allegedly from his brutal treatment of covenanters. On the other hand, he defended at least one supposed witch and stated that he believed these to be far less common than alleged, protesting that 'poor innocents die in multitudes by an unworthy martyrdom, and Burning comes in fashion.' While the rumour continues that his coffin moved by itself in protest at being buried near said covenanters, the issues seem to have really got going centuries later, after 1998 when someone broken into his mausoleum for shelter on a cold night and got physically attacked by something arcane. I had no hope of sensing a spooky vibe in the bright sunshine with so many wandering around chatting happily together in Harry Potter costumes. It was just a lovely day.
Eventually I came home, crossing a piece of wasteland across which blew tell-tale wisps of smoke. The fire brigade were just pulling up. Why then did I continue towards the smoke? Well, it seems the Good Lord made me so very clever he decided I wouldn't need much in the way of common sense. The fire brigade was right there anyway and this was the quickest way through, besides, the smoke wasn't much yet. It was two little gorse shrubs far to the side of the way through, though one was one properly aflame. Away I went, only to bump into an old guy on the path who said he had seen two little boys running fast back down the path, and it was his belief that those boys had set the fires.
Sometimes one wonders if the MacKenzie poltergeist couldn't be coaxed into leaving its mausoleum for a bit to keep the little twats of West Lothian busy or terrified. Maybe I'm being harsh on the little darlings. For all I know, it could have been the old man himself, I'm in no place to judge.
But I'll bet Lord Advocate 'Bluidy' Mackenzie could sort it out properly, especially in spectral form. Come on, George, are you going to stay in Edinburgh all your afterlife?
One big pink tent was full of beauty companies on tour; you could go in and get contouring done, or your arms massaged, something like that. I'd have done it (I need to rethink my look and don't know where to begin) but the queues were ridiculous. Instead I popped off to the RSA exhibition on the Mound.
Hmm. Maybe that idiot formalist I knew on FB affected me more than I realised. I found myself almost immediately weary, dismissive of attempts to give me a message, or instances where figures have been plonked in an attempt to look mysteriously meaningful. Invoking narrative is of course a major part of art and generally I enjoy it. But I refuse to work harder than the artist towards the success of their painting. I found myself instead drawn to structures and textures that cooled my mind. The two most successful pieces for me included one depiction of a brownish autumnal wood, which looked unimpressive from across the room and then was magnificent close up, all branches and leaves and patterns, engrossing. The other was a clever figure study which caught light so cleverly that the almost unformed face of the figure itself seemed to be changing as it watched us watching it. Neither of these would work in my house, in fact the last one might give me nightmares, but the skill was uncanny.
On to Greyfriars Kirkyard. I never spent any time here when I was at Uni, because back then you couldn't move through the place without bumping into a drunk or a dealer. Now its vibe is much more pleasant, peaceful despite all the folk. Maybe the undesirables fled the infamous Mackenzie Poltergeist, whose activities never seem to abate. Sir George Mackenzie got his nickname 'Bluidy Mackenzie' allegedly from his brutal treatment of covenanters. On the other hand, he defended at least one supposed witch and stated that he believed these to be far less common than alleged, protesting that 'poor innocents die in multitudes by an unworthy martyrdom, and Burning comes in fashion.' While the rumour continues that his coffin moved by itself in protest at being buried near said covenanters, the issues seem to have really got going centuries later, after 1998 when someone broken into his mausoleum for shelter on a cold night and got physically attacked by something arcane. I had no hope of sensing a spooky vibe in the bright sunshine with so many wandering around chatting happily together in Harry Potter costumes. It was just a lovely day.
Eventually I came home, crossing a piece of wasteland across which blew tell-tale wisps of smoke. The fire brigade were just pulling up. Why then did I continue towards the smoke? Well, it seems the Good Lord made me so very clever he decided I wouldn't need much in the way of common sense. The fire brigade was right there anyway and this was the quickest way through, besides, the smoke wasn't much yet. It was two little gorse shrubs far to the side of the way through, though one was one properly aflame. Away I went, only to bump into an old guy on the path who said he had seen two little boys running fast back down the path, and it was his belief that those boys had set the fires.
Sometimes one wonders if the MacKenzie poltergeist couldn't be coaxed into leaving its mausoleum for a bit to keep the little twats of West Lothian busy or terrified. Maybe I'm being harsh on the little darlings. For all I know, it could have been the old man himself, I'm in no place to judge.
But I'll bet Lord Advocate 'Bluidy' Mackenzie could sort it out properly, especially in spectral form. Come on, George, are you going to stay in Edinburgh all your afterlife?
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