Wednesday, 4 November 2015
For some reason, submarines have recently started to feature in the iconography of these assemblages. I originally attributed this to having visited the Anselm Kiefer exhibition, and re-wakened memories of the TV series Das Boot, but there is probably more to it than that. After all, a submarine is the very embodiment of an item bobbing up from the subconscious. Though, as Freud might have said, sometimes a submarine is just a submarine.
If you are old enough you will remember those little plastic submarines that came as a "free gift" with a box of breakfast cereal -- Corn Flakes, I think, or possibly Shreddies. The idea was that by putting baking soda into a little compartment beneath the sub, the thing would rise and fall in a bottle of water. As we never had any baking soda in the house -- my mother was not a keen cook -- I never did get to try this out. Besides, I thought the fat black plastic plug that sealed the compartment spoiled the lines of the craft, and usually discarded them.
As these tiny submarines were usually yellow, I have always assumed that they lurk somewhere beneath that single appalling blot on the otherwise immaculate and only truly enduring Beatles album, Revolver. Though, oddly, no-one has ever suggested this, as far as I know. It may be in Revolution in the Head somewhere, but I have never been able to open that tome without wishing I hadn't. I gave it away to Oxfam last year, along with Lipstick Traces, Lights Out For The Territory, and various other unrewarding fat volumes I shall never read again. I need the shelf space.