GLIMPSES

Every so often some archive or other will release polychrome footage of cities from a bygone era, and, because it is in colour, it feels almost contemporaneous, or, at the very least, within easy reach of our imaginations. 

A similar feeling can accompany the discovery of passages from Tudor diaries, fragments from Greek Lyric Poetry, and 5,000-year-old inscriptions on baked clay tablets from Uruk.

This isn’t dejas vu. The couples strolling down Shaftesbury Avenue in long dresses and top coats, the first-hand account of Henry VII’s coronation, Archilochus’ observations from a hillside on Paros, a merchant’s correspondence from Mesopotamia …these are all way-stations on the march of modernity.

A march that winds through the dark forests of superstition, Medievalism, and raving irrationality. 

Dark Ages that, not so very long ago, we could look back on with the arrogant swagger of early 21st Century attitude and declare: “Never again!” 

Then flash forward a few short years and we have suddenly been flushed back down the socio-political pan into a grotesque Hieronymus Bosch landscape where unblushing national leaders take pride in their ability to spout statements which are diametrically opposite to what they said the week, day or hour before. 

Secure in the knowledge that their audiences do not have the interest or stamina to question their inconsistencies.

As long as they appeal directly to their audiences’ most primitive fears, grudges and fantasies.