Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 10 December 2016
It's all about the baby Jesus
It has been perpetual dusk since dawn this morning, and I think it is going to stay that way until the real one comes around. I wish I could stop thinking about Christmas, but living here in the middle of a tourist town makes that impossible. The above is this year's Christmas card, from our compact but adorable city apartment. Consider it personally sent to you.
It is the preparation, you see. If I don't get these cards printed by next week, it will be too late and various family members keep changing their minds about me cooking for them on the 24th.
Every year, I try to come up with an image which is both secular, uncontentious, reminiscent and evocative - without resorting to robins and logs with snow on - but we are all fighting a losing battle, I think.
You have to hand it to the Church. All of the best historical Art fell into the category of 'sacred', probably because they were the only ones who could afford to commission it, and devotion to a deity is far more effective than devotion to a monarch - the only other establishment who could afford to commission it.
Bach spent his entire life as a church chorister on a meagre but steady income. These were the days when it was shameful - if not heritical - to declare yourself an atheist, rather than the other way round as it is now. At least he got to hear every one of his compositions thanks to the vast human resource at his perpetual disposal. All he had to do was flatter God. Life must have been a lot more simple.