Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

Though a far cry from the traditional set up of a museum as everything is held in a man’s house, the Sir John Soane Museum showcases aspects of the British identity quite well. In fact, the museum’s success in its portrayal of the British identity might be attributed to the fact that it is in Sir John Soane’s house. The placement demands that attention be paid to the man and the object rather than just the objects on display. The objects he collected are incredible- beautiful, intricate, and plentiful. Still, one would find difficulty leaving the house without considering how the objects, the man, and Britain all tie together.

Sir John Soane

Sir John Soane, an architect most famous for his work on the exterior of the Bank of England, understood the importance of inheritance in the British social set up. The son of a mason, he was in good company for improving his skills in the building trade. If he was content with being just another mason or even just another architect though, I wouldn’t have anything to write about in this post; that is, his collection, his museum, his legacy, his influence- none of this would be possible. His social stature needed to improve. Sir John Sloane lived and worked during the Georgian era, a time known as the “Age of Aristocracy” in which the British aristocracy enjoyed a level of prominence in society. While wars of independence and revolutions for social equality raged in other lands, the English social scene continued to favor the upper classes that the others were rebelling against. Understanding the importance that his social stature had in such a society, Sir John Soane married into money in 1784. This marriage gave him the social status that enabled him to reach a more elite class of customers and, as a result, be involved with more impressive and monumental projects. His talent alone was noteworthy. Before he married, he had already won many awards in architecture, traveled to Italy to perfect his craft, and had began compiling images for a publication that would come out in 1788. I don’t mean to belittle his talent at all. Still, it wasn’t until after his marriage that he started to design more major projects including his most famous work on the Bank of England. There has to be a link between the wealth and stature he acquired in his marriage and the timing of his more famous works. Yes, he was good but you have to be great to be sought after to work on such large-scale projects as the Bank of England. Why was he sought after for such projects? I would argue that the answer lies in the fact that people of a certain social circle knew his name because of his social status in London.

Soane’s displaying his possessions to the public can be seen then as a key portrayal of the British identity. He was able to collect all of these remarkable objects because he was wealthy and influential enough to even be considered as a possible owner in the first place. His social climbing, in my opinion, played a major part in getting him to that status. Let’s remember that Sir John Soane didn’t just display these impressive objects in a building (something he could have easily crafted given his profession). He displayed everything in his house and, in doing so, put his house and himself on display as well. His life became part of the exhibit. So truly his life must be considered as much as any of the objects in the museum upon reflection. The statues were beautiful but does anyone need that many? Short answer: no. Sir John Soane seemed to think differently though. For this reason, his seems to have an understanding of the importance of showing off one’s social status in the English society. He needed people to understand just how well off he was. What better way to accomplish such a thing than to display impressive object after impressive object in the context of your home ?

Outside of Sir John Soane's home

Interestingly enough, the museum has been and continues to be free of charge to the public as was declared by Sir John Soane the way it should be. This fare gives every person the same opportunity to visit the museum as the next. Was this a way in which to thwart the social fixtures that seemed to consume his society? Or was it a way to show off on the most massive scale possible? I’m not sure. But this college student certainly appreciated the fee.  But no matter what the cost was to get into the museum, I think its impossible to only call it that. It’s more than a museum. It’s a portrayal of a man’s life and the society he tried so hard to impress.

Let me begin by saying that Pitmen Painters was the best play I have seen thus far.  It seemed to me that almost everyone enjoyed the play quite a bit.  Pitmen Painters was full of passion, philosophy and humor.  However, it was the passion and philosophy which truly captured me during the play.

The socialist overtones were quite apparent throughout the play, but I’m not entirely sure if it was a glorification of socialism.  It’s true that Oliver turned down the stipend and instead decided to continue working in the mine; an obvious case of promoting the proletariat.  However, what comes of his actions?  Instead of having a much different life, Oliver (and the rest of the miners) doesn’t seem to grow, either artistically, which Helen points out, or personally.  The miners latch on to the socialist movement hoping for change, but that change never came as was pointed out by the projector screen at the end of the play.

So what is there to show for in the end?  Quite a bit in my opinion.  The play was not a promotion of socialism, art or even the Pitmen Painters.  It was both a warning and revelation about change.  The play wanted to make clear to the viewer that a person cannot expect to latch on to an ideology and expect to be saved.  Ideologies are merely abstract concepts of the world at a particular moment in time.  They cannot be true because the world (and us as human beings) is constantly in flux.  True change, personal rebirth, transcending yourself or whatever you want to call it can only come from within and without the help of false idols or flawed ideologies.  To say that Oliver would have sold out by accepting the stipend is simply not true.

In the end, each of the Pitmen Painters sold out by rejecting the opportunity for personal change.  Oliver, the rest of the miners and the dentist all decided to join the socialist movement, placing the opportunity for change in someone else’s hands.  The unemployed man decided to join the war effort not because he really wanted to, but because he was convinced by recruiters that it could fulfill something missing in his life (probably the “honor” of having a job at last and being part of something “important/larger than oneself”).  In both cases, each character, instead of looking within themselves to find what they truly wanted from life, decided to look outwards for something they thought could fill that meaning.  Though their lives were tragic and their dreams left unfulfilled, the play and the characters in it is a message to the viewers that change is possible only if you have the will and courage to make it so.

Reading George Orwell’s “The Moon Under Water” I was almost getting giddy at the prospect of such a pub existing.  Now I have not spent much time in the pubs here in London not being a huge fan of pub food, excessive drinking, and loud music—however I have made an effort to visit a few pubs and have specifically noted their “atmosphere” to use Orwell’s term.

To be completely frank I had no real interest in discussing this topic until I met up with friends a couple of nights ago at The Sports Café off of Piccadilly Circus.  Prior to this experience I had felt most of the pubs I ventured into were fairly similar. The food offerings were all about the same: pies, jacket potatoes, a burger, the crowd was similar: middle aged men in suits at lunch and after work, with a handful of older gentlemen creeping in the corners, and the music was undistinguishable pop music in every locale.  Depending on how close the pub was to London proper I found there were more men in work clothes.  At the pubs closer to a college I tended to find a mixed clientele of young college students and middle-aged men.  However, in every pub almost all of the pub-goers were British. That was until I went to The Sports Café.

I wasn’t even halfway into the door when I found myself surrounded by young college aged (or younger) people and (get ready for it..) American accents! It was so loud I could barely hear myself thinking, a combination of the music volume and the stereotypical loud American voices.  I never even saw a food menu, I’m not sure if this was because they didn’t serve food or because food had stopped serving by this hour, but either way I would assume that a place like this would serve chicken fingers, burgers, pizza, and fries (not even chips).  I recognized almost every song that came on the blaring stereo, and additionally recognized half a dozen people at the bar (most of whom I had never met before, but also happened to be Dickinson students).

Now I don’t think George Orwell was looking for the first pub I described, but I also don’t think he would have imagined a place like the later that I visited.  I have come to realize that pub life is a huge part of the British culture, and I am trying to appreciate it for what it is, but none of the places I have visited have been a place where I would want to spend extended periods of time, or return to.  But, if I ever find The Moon Under Water where the atmosphere is just right with good food, no music (okay well my perfect pub would have some music), families in the back garden, and a friendly staff I could certainly spend some time there. But I’m still looking.

Philosophy post! Prepare for pretentiousness, big words, and most importantly, bullshit! I’m only kidding of course. Yesterday’s play, The Pitmen Painters raised some important questions about personal identity. In fact, the entire first act was dedicated to that theme. The miners are faced with an important challenge to their working class identities. When the wealthy heiress Helen Sutherland offers Oliver Kilbourne a weekly stipend for painting, he declines after much deliberation, hollering on about how a miner absolutely cannot be an artist. He is a pitman through and through and that will never change. His identity does not extend any further than his career.

Oliver is a perfect example of Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of mauvaise foi, translated as bad faith. Sartre realized that humans tend to define themselves as per a list of finite list of descriptors, such as profession, sexual orientation, actions committed in the past, etc. His most famous example is the infamous waiter. This particular waiter wakes up every morning and thinks about waiting tables. He goes to work and is in his element, focusing primarily on his job and considering everything else to be either peripheral or in some way related to working in a restaurant. He is more waiter than human. Sartre considers such a person to be lying to himself, because human identity absolutely cannot be isolated into one overarching trait.

Oliver is in bad faith, at least throughout act one. There really isn’t much more to his shallow existence beyond his job as a pitman. He considers Helen to be part of “Them,” the upper class of Britain who might as well belong to a different nation. The two classes are worlds apart. Oliver and crew can’t even fathom pursuing a career in something as lofty as painting, a profession stereotypically associated with those who actually have time to paint, namely the upper class.

I apologize, but some technical jargon is necessary at this juncture. A key concept in existentialism is undefined nature of humanity. There are two important ideas to be understood here: facticity and transcendence. Facticity is past actions or social roles, or what most people attempt to use as fodder for definition. If I killed a man last week, the murder is part of my facticity. Transcendence is what a person is yet to become, an infinitely open space to be filled with future facticity. Sartre famously writes in the god-awfully long Being and Nothingness, “I am what I am not and I am not what I am.” Read that one a few times. To be what one is not is not as contradictory as it seems. The nothingness represents the freedom all people possess to make choices and live dignified lives. Do not become too deeply ingrained in your past; it does not define you.

The Ashington Group initially disagree with everything Sartre said. A pitman you’re born a pitman you’ll die, and you’ll never be anything more. As the men become more and more well known in the art world, they insist on remaining “non-professional” artists and keep their dismal jobs down in the mines. I believe that the group, especially Oliver, conquer their bad faith. They finally realize the crucial balance of facticity and transcendence. Their art remains based on working-class life and pitman culture, but they learn to embrace the future instead of gluing themselves to their past.

So it seemed like everyone was enthralled by the play, The Pitman Painters, last night. It was amazing, simply put.  However, as I have already mulled to a few of my classmates, I am uncertain of its socialist/communist tendencies. I felt more like it was a critique of socialism (which I realize is not the historical case). It ended up just feeling very nihilistic to me, rather than inspirational. Maybe nihilism isn’t the best word but if nothing else the play was laced was dramatic irony. I look at the play, and I think of all the dreams, passion, and attempts to stand up on one’s own feet, and all I see is failure. Small details like the unemployed guy (dies when he enlists) or Oliver (stays a pitman; I’ll talk more on this as it is arguable he succeeded), or even their teacher (who gets the great position yet will soon be forgot and left to obscurity) are quite noticeable; however, it is the grander theme of a system or dream letting us down is what leads me to feel this falls into the realm of nihilism rather than a socialist commentary. The last scene in particular shows this I think. Oliver has turned away from the bourgeois’ attempt to enslave him with money (hurray for the working class!), and he paints a banner for the socialist movement. Everyone is having a beer and cheering, saying “surely they’ll have to listen to us now.” But we as viewers know this not to be true. And then, when you think it is only a subtle joke between you and the playwright, the projector lights up explaining to us that there was never and academy at Ashington and the group broke up soon after the play took place. We further understand that the socialist movement in Britain did not succeed; they probably all died poor miners. In all likelihood (as Paul pointed out) Margaret Thatcher personally beat up each of the Pitman Painters.

The only thing I could think of as a positive explanation was this: the play was supposed to represent a moment, a snapshot, of human existance where people got it right. Just like in a painting, for one second the world is still and clear. We have no idea what Mona Lisa did right after her portrait was taken; she could have been attacked by wild dogs. However, in that one moment truth was found. And then the moment passes, we become disillusioned, our skills fail us, or our dreams betray us.

But onto happier things: I loved the accents, not just because linguistic anthropology has always given me goosebumps but also because I thought it is an interesting device to show class struggle and friction; it is something we rarely get to play with in the United States (other than your usual southern jokes). What I liked best was how we as the audience were able to understand the pitman more clearly as the play went on, as if we were becoming part of their group, integrating as the art instructor did. This might have been done on purpose, or their might not have been any change at all to the dialogue and I was simply able to understand more easily. Either way, it was a neat technique.

Anyway, cheers

I had a huge problem with the Victoria and Albert Museum. Maybe that’s not the most gracious of ways to begin a post but it’s the only way that seems fitting. I was really excited to go to the museum. Not only had I heard only rave reviews from my classmates but I had also been introduced to just a taste of all the many ways that Victoria and Albert aided the arts and science communities on our very first day here on our tube stop adventure. I was expecting a museum that displayed some of the finest collections of art-sy and science-sy things shown off in an almost magical way. What did the museum show me though? Wedding dresses. The only thing I remember from all of the exhibitions is the fashion room. Maybe that wasn’t the best room for a person like me to go into (I’m not the best at coordinating colors and prints but, in my defense, I at least know that plaid and stripes don’t go together). Still, I think that a person without the least bit of fashion sense should be able to go into an exhibit in this type of museum and not come out with a feeling of outrage. Now, I have been researching feminist literary figures  in the Bloomsbury area for the past week so maybe I’m a bit more sensitive to gender issues than I might normally be. That being said, the fashion room was laid out in a way that seemed to make the statement that the epitome of female dress could be found in a wedding dress. I don’t know if I’m alone in this sentiment but that statement couldn’t be more belittling or insulting. In my mind, glorifying a wedding dress in this way fits into the mindset that women are to only aspire to be a wife. I have nothing against marriage and think that being a stay-at-home-mom is quite a respectable position in life. But to be limited to such a role is wrong and it is exactly that limitation that I feel the fashion room in this museum was advertising.

Women have for years been actively pursuing equal opportunities in the workplace and home alike. Many women from the London area made great strides in assuring these opportunities came about. In the literary world, Virginia Woolf, George Eliot, Vera Brittain, Jane Austen– these are just a few of the women who pushed their way to the forefront of the literary world and showed that women had as much talent as men and should be given the opportunity to showcase that talent. Other influential women such as Millicent Garrett Fawcett, Sylvia Pankhurst, and Nancy Astor also have an important influence in the city. Let’s not forget that some of the most memorable sovereigns of the nation were women. Queen Elizabeth I, Queen Elizabeth II, and even Queen Victoria herself made contributions to the well being of the nation that cannot be overlooked. Though incredibly diverse in their many accomplishments, all of these women have one thing in common: their lives amounted to more than a wedding dress.

The Victoria and Albert Museum seems to ignore the rich history of powerful females in London though and, instead, caters to the idea that the aspiration of women is to look good on their wedding day. I think this is most clearly demonstrated in the wedding dress by Neymar that was worn by Angela Stamp on their wedding day in 1976. It was designed to resemble something Anne Boleyn would have worn.

Angela Stam's Neymar wedding dress

Anne Boleyn used marriage as a social stepladder more than possibly any other woman in history in my opinion. Taking any connection to the dress’s primary influence away though, the dress itself showcases exactly what the feminist movement was rebelling against in the 1970s. It is embroidered with beads and flowers and covered in frills and folds is such a way that it emphasizes the dress not the woman. In fact, the mannequin on display has absolutely no facial attributes at all. The woman is literally unnecessary. To me this implies that any woman can be placed into this dress, it wouldn’t matter at all who is in it. The dress is going to serve its purpose. The dress is going to find the desired husband (the husband who wants his wife in such a dress and will pay to make sure she looks like this to her public). Yes, it is crafted beautifully and is truly a sight to see. Other dresses were just as beautiful though, but it was this dress along with two other wedding dresses that were on display in single cases. It was this dress along with two other wedding dresses that attracted everyone’s attention. The museum is compiling a collection of wedding dresses for their wedding dress exhibit in 2013. It’s currently 2009. These wedding dresses aren’t a part of that exhibit. These wedding dresses are a part of the everyday collection and as such send the message (at least to me) that these are important enough to be set aside from all the other dresses because they are the most important clothes that women can ever put on. I would argue that’s just simply not the case.

I’m not even going to get started on the significant lack of male clothes present in the exhibit. There was a case of suits in the entire room. That was it. I recognize that that inequality is also a problem but the message of limitation through the wedding dresses was what struck me most in the room. Again, I was excited about seeing the museum. Victoria and Albert made incredible contributions to the art and science communities that shouldn’t be ignored. Unfortunately, the way in which the wedding dresses were displayed made all of their accomplishments completely invisible to me. All I could see was lace and embroidery.

I have no idea what I’m talking about when it comes to classical music, nor do I have a musically creative bone in my body. I can pick out the right-hand parts to a few Beatles and Coldplay tunes on the piano and I can play a pretty mean kazoo, but my incompetence with the finer, mechanical parts of music has never kept me from deeply appreciating it. I’ll actually make sacrifices and bad life-choices I usually wouldn’t make to go see a live show, and I was very much looking forward to seeing Prom 70 at the Royal Albert Hall despite my almost complete ignorance of classical music.

I’ll admit that I was more excited to see anything in the Royal Albert Hall itself than I was about the actual program: so many greats have played on that stage, it’s an amazingly beautiful and historic venue, and I own a few concerts on DVD that take place in that very hall.

I’m not sure I even have the vocabulary to describe the concert we saw, so I’m not sure why I’m blogging about it if I can’t write about it, but I want to enthuse about how much I enjoyed the night’s performance (as well as the venue it was in). Besides purely enjoying the music and wishing the performance had been longer, I found myself wondering about the musicians, about their lives and motives, and what would possess a person to be so passionate about one random instrument that they would pursue it to the highest level of achievement and proficiency. I lack the dedication, talent, and all around aspiration to do anything like that, so I’ve always been attracted to people who know where they’re going and how they want to get there.

Additionally, I also found myself wondering about the whole “BBC Proms” program itself: the fact that the BBC can sponsor, fill, and finance nine weeks of almost continual classical music concerts for 115 years, as well as broadcast them nightly on television and radio, says a lot about the importance of the fine arts to London and Britain as a whole. The Proms program doesn’t strike me as one that would exist or even be attended by nearly as many people in New York, for example, which I now realize is a terrible shame, since it prohibits people previously ignorant of classical music, like me, to enjoy a night of the most talented musicians around for a good price in a historic venue and perhaps develop and interest in the finer arts.

So I am quite sure I was not the only one that was moved by The Pitmen Painters tonight. I must admit, this was the performance I was least looking forward to, and it was the one I enjoyed and was touched by the most. I guess it was because, first of all, it struck close to home. My great grandfathers on my father’s side of the family both were coal miners and it just gave me so much pride in my family. My father was the first person on his side of the family to attend college, my sister and I being the next, so I have a strong appreciation and respect for those who earn their living by hand.  I also appreciated this play because it featured the working class.

I am a social historian at heart, so to watch this play was truly a treat and a learning experience. The scene that stuck out to me the most was when Oliver was talking with Miss Sutherland about his refusal to her offer. It reminded me a bit of Great Expectations and Joe. I thought of the conversation Pip and Joe had where Joe, even though he has the capacity to perhaps achieve greater things, decides he is satisfied with his honest way of living and would not change it. Pip of course did not understand why one would want to do that, just like Miss Sutherland had the same sort of reaction. In the play, Oliver says something that miners and painters just don’t mix. They are from two different worlds and they both speak two different languages, he would never be able to fit in. At first, I remember thinking, I really hope he takes this offer because he was an incredible artist. Then, when I saw the opening of the scene and he sat there waiting to tell her the answer, I just thought in my mind, don’t say yes. I don’t really know why I thought that, but I guess I knew too, like he did, that sometimes two different social scenes just cannot mix. In the end though, he was still proud of the work he did and who he was, and that was what was important.

I thought this was an excellent final play to end our time in London because it kind of brought together all of the central themes we had been discussing. From the ever popular juxtapositioning to class structure to identity. The moral of the story is to just be proud of where you come from, like we had learned with Dickens and other authors, and tonight I was definitely proud of my heritage.

It occurred to me last night that I have a major lack of research done for my paper. I know that I’m not the only one. As far as I know, only a handful of people have actually paid a visit to the library and gotten their reader card. In case you are one of those folks who haven’t yet gone, this post is directed to you. Military time is used for added European flavor. Read it and know what not to do at the British library.

0900: Leave bright and early with high hopes for a prestigious library.

0902: Return to the Arran House to retrieve my forgotten passport.

0917: Finally arrive at my destination. Almost get hit by a bus crossing the street.

0919: Ask the receptionist where the heck I need to go in the behemoth of a building to get a library card. He responds, simply, “Go upstairs.”

0929: After ten minutes of confused wandering, return back to receptionist for a slightly more specific destination. Feel really stupid after he points to the big sign saying “READER CARD REGISTRATION.”

0931: Proceed to registration area. Sloppily hand receptionist the gazillion documents and forms of identification that I was told to bring. Before I even say a word he asks if I’m American. Typical.

0932: Fill out electronic application. Didn’t run into any problems, for once. Hooray.

0950: Finally called up to complete application process. Clerk is morbidly obese, and flirty.

0951: Turns out all I needed was a passport, a driver’s license, and my Dickinson ID. Feel embarrassed again for bringing so much stuff.

0953: Get picture taken for library card. Clerk compliments me on the picture. I think she was just being nice.

0954: Run into Audrey. Go America.

1000: Sit down at a computer that is clearly not working. Young lady next to me asks if I’m American. Move to another desk on the opposite side of the room.

1015: Successfully locate and compile six or so books that seem pertinent to my topic. Go to enquiries counter to pick up books. Am told to wait 70 minutes for processing. Why 70? Why not 60, or 71 for that matter? Only God knows.

1130: After a delicious visit to Pret a Manger, return to library with revitalized high hopes.

1133: Turns out I didn’t actually request anything and that the last hour was a complete waste of time. Clerk chastises me for not asking for help. Yeah, well, he’s old and has bad teeth. So there.

1145: Receive help from a younger librarian who is familiar with the orthodontist’s office. Am told to wait another 70 minutes.

1330: After getting lost in The Guardian and totally losing track of time, sprint back to library. What if 70 minutes is exceeded? I bet they make you wait 70 more minutes as a penalty.

1333: No penalty for tardiness! Unfortunately, only one book out of six are available. Silently curse the British library system.

1420: Fortunately, the one book is informative. Proceed to copy machine room for much green button pressing pleasure.

1421: 20 pence per page?! That’s highway robbery! Makes me miss Dickinson for its free printing services. Oh, wait…

1430: Ingenious idea for new search terms! Find a book in database called Swingtime in Tottenham. Perfect for a paper on the London Jazz scene! Much rejoicing, followed by grumbling due to yet another 70 minute wait.

1520: After another visit to Pret and a thorough reading of Wired, proceed back to library feeling giddy.

1524: Swingtime in Tottenham is a children’s book. With pictures.

1525-1533: Seethe with anger.

1534: Leave library. See Andrew Ford from the science program across the room on the way out. Go America.

1550: Return to Arran House, thoroughly unfulfilled and sore.

The Moral of the story: For the love of God, no matter how unfriendly or scary the librarians might seem, ASK FOR DIRECTIONS!

I already addressed the differences in national appreciation of art between the UK and US in my post last week about the theatre, but recently I’ve been thinking about it again. Although I didn’t get to catch all of what Sir Peter Maxwell Davies said in his preconcert interview Tuesday, I was struck by a topic he and the interviewer both seemed anxious to discuss: music education. More specifically, that it is not requisite and rather is sometimes absent from the UK curriculum. For those of you who didn’t go to the talk, Sir Peter holds the title of Master of the Queen’s Music, conducted the first two pieces last night, and was the composer of the violin concerto which had its premiere last night. He made the important point that British schools do a disservice to the youth of the country when they underestimate their ability to be intellectually challenged, particularly by the seemingly more abstract fields of art and music. He said that youth want to be challenged and, cynical though I am about a lot, I absolutely agree. I feel, as I imagine Davies would, that there needs to be some mechanism (through schooling or some other way) for forcing (for lack of a better word) art, music, science and discussion and debate of relevant issues on the public. This kind of thing may be scarce in Britain, but it seems absolutely extinct in America.

After all, on Tuesday night we saw a great Proms concert that (if it wasn’t live last night) will be rebroadcast on one of the lower number BBC Channels in the next few days. That would be like me going to a challenging but enjoyable Baltimore Symphony Orchestra concert and it being broadcast for the entire country on NBC the next night. I wouldn’t expect every Brit flipping through the channels to stop and be transfixed by contemporary classical music, but at least a conscious effort is being made to offer quality programming and I’m sure that has some effect (look at the crowd a Tuesday night concert with mostly unfamiliar pieces drew). I’m sure there’s much worse programming that would have appealed to a much greater audience that the BBC can show rather than the Proms, but the BBC is lucky enough to not be funded by advertisers and so it doesn’t have to cater to the lowest common denominator the way networks in the US often have to. Davies may be right that the British public in general and youth in particular are not being challenged, but at least the Proms broadcast is a small sign that those with the power to control programming in Britain have some inclination towards placing art and music front and centre.

My father told me that when he was in elementary school, once in a while everyone would be shepherded down to the auditorium to watch film of Leonard Bernstein’s Young People’s Concerts together. I imagine there were people in his class that had no interest in classical music then or today, but I imagine the films struck an interest in music in at least a few. If there were efforts to expose me to art and music when I was young it was always cursory (more cursory even than watching film of full concerts), underfunded or both. I support Sir Peter’s cause of really making an effort to expose kids to a wider range of great art and music at a young age, and think that the Proms is a good example of how an effort on an even larger scale can really pay off.

I briefly wanted to mention that I really enjoyed Tuesday night’s concert. I thought it was actually the perfect program for us in that it included a fine romantic overture, a challenging piece of contemporary British music (in its UK premiere) and an also interesting Sibelius symphony, with a finale that’s hard not to love (and which, strangely enough, was mentioned in one of the London poems we all read). While I’m still not sure I understand everything about the structure of the Proms, it does seem like a very unusual and impressive event, and I’m glad to say I had the chance to go. I’m starting to conclude that for all the amazing opportunities we’ve had in London, down the road I’ll most appreciate the chance to see so many great performances (both theatrical and musical) for free (well, free for me, anyway).