Gorp

Gorp (pronounced gawrp)

(1) Greedily to eat (obsolete).

(2) A mixture of nuts, raisins, dried fruits seeds and such, often packed as a high-energy snack by hikers, climbers and others undertaking strenuous outdoor activities.

(3) By extension, in the slang of late 1950s US automobile stylists (and subsequently their critics), the notion of adding many design elements to a car, even if discordant.

(4) In fashion criticism, an adoption of the automotive use, used to describe an excessive use of decorative items, especially if loosely fitted and inclined to “stray”.

Early 1900s: Of uncertain origin (in the sense of “greedily to eat”) but assumed by most etymologists to be a merging of gorge & gulp, the construct being gor(p) + (gul)p.  The mid-fourteenth century verb gorge (to eat with a display of greediness, or in large quantities) was from the Middle English gorgen (greedily to eat) and was from the Old French gorger & gorgier (which endures in modern French as gorger (greedily to eat; to gorge)), from gorge (throat).  The Middle English noun gorge (esophagus, gullet; throat; bird's crop; food in a hawk's crop; food or drink that has been take consumed) came directly from the Old French gorge (throat) (which endures in modern French as gorge (throat; breast)), from the Vulgar Latin gorga & gurga, from the Classical Latin gurges (eddy, whirlpool; gulf; sea), of uncertain origin but perhaps linked with the primitive Indo-European gwerhs- (to devour, swallow; to eat).  The English word was cognate with the Galician gorxa (throat), the Italian gorga & gorgia (gorge, throat (ravine long obsolete)), the Occitan gorga & gorja, the Portuguese gorja (gullet, throat; gorge) and the Spanish gorja (gullet, throat; gorge).  The duality of meaning in French meant the brassiere (bra) came to be called “un soutien-gorge (with derived forms such as “soutien-gorge de sport” (sports bra) with “soutif” the common colloquial abbreviation; the literal translation was thus “throat supporter” but it’s better understood as “chest uplifter”.

Lindsay Lohan gulping down a Pure Leaf iced tea; promotional image from the brand's “Time for a Tea Break” campaign.

The mid-fifteenth century noun gulp (eagerly (and often noisily) to swallow; swallow in large draughts; take down in a single swallow) was from the Middle English gulpen and probably from the West Flemish or Middle Dutch gulpen &, golpen, of uncertain origin.  Although not exactly onomatopoeic, the word may have been of imitative origin, or even an extension of meaning of the Dutch galpen (to roar, squeal) or the English galp & gaup (to gape).  It was related to the German Low German gulpen (to gush out, belch, gulp), the West Frisian gjalpe, gjalpje & gjealpje (to gush, spurt forth), the Danish gulpe & gylpe (to gulp up, disgorge), the dialectal Swedish glapa (to gulp down) and the Old English galpettan (to gulp down, eat greedily, devour).  The derived senses (to react nervously by swallowing; the sound of swallowing indicating apprehension or fear) may have been in use as early as the sixteenth century.  Gorp is a noun; the noun plural is gorps.  In fashion (technically perhaps “anti-fashion appropriated by fashion”) “gorpcore” describes the use as streetwear of outerwear either designed for outdoor recreation (in the sense of hiking, wilderness tracking etc) or affecting that style.  Exemplified by the ongoing popularity of the puffer jacket, gorpcore is something much associated with the COVID-19 pandemic but the look had by the time of the outbreak already been on-trend for more than a year.  The name comes from the stereotypical association of trail mix (gorp) with such outdoor activities.  The verbs gorping and gorped (often as “gorped-up”) were informal and used among stylists and critics when discussing some of Detroit’s excessively ornamented cars of the late 1950s & early 1960s.  Acronym Finder lists eleven GORPs including the two for trail-mix which seem peacefully to co-exist:

GORP: Great Outdoor Recreation Pages (a website).
GORP: Good Old Raisins and Peanuts (trail mix).
GORP: Granola, Oats, Raisins, and Peanuts (trail mix).
GORP: Garry Ork Restoration Project (An ecosystem restoration project in Saanich, Canada, designed to save the endangered Garry Oak trees, British Columbia’s only native oak species.
GORP: Georgia Outdoor Recreational Pass (Georgia Wildlife Resources Division).
GORP: Graduate Orthodontic Residents Program (University of Michigan; Ann Arbor).
GORP: Grinnell Outdoor Recreation Program (Grinnell College, Iowa)
GORP: Good Organic Retailing Practices.
GORP: Get Odometer Readings at the Pump.
GORP: Gordon Outdoor Recreation Project (Gordon College, Wenham, Massachusetts).
GORP: Growing Outdoor Recreation Professionals (University of California, Berkeley).

Lexicographers acknowledge the uncertainty of origin in the use of “gorp” to describe the mix of nuts, raisins, seeds and such in the packaged, high-energy snack now often known by the description most common in US commerce: “Trail mix”.  So common and conveniently packaged are the ingredients of gorp that doubtlessly variations of the combination have been carried by travellers since the origins of human movement over distance but the first known references to the concept to appear in print were seen in the “outdoors” themed magazines of the early twentieth century.  Deconstructed however, the notion of “high-energy, long-life, low volume” rations were for centuries a standard part of a soldier’s rations with different mixes used by land-based or naval forces, something dictated by availability and predicted rates of spoilage; as early as the seventeenth century, recommended combinations appeared in military manuals and quartermaster’s lists.  Not until the mid-1950s however is there any record of the stuff being described as “gorp” although the oft quoted formations: “Good Old Raisins and Peanuts” & “Granola, Oats, Raisins, and Peanuts” may both be backronyms.

Lindsay Lohan (b 1986, either left or right) and Erin Mackey (b 1986, either left or right), hiking scene in The Parent Trap (1998).  They would have packed some trail mix in their back-packs.

In various places around the planet, similar concoctions (the composition influenced by regional tastes and product availability) were described by different names including the antipodean scroggin or schmogle (the latter apparently restricted to New Zealand) and beyond the English-speaking world, there’s been a myriad of variants among those in schools or universities including “student mix”, “study mix”, “student fodder” & “student oats”.  That variety has faded as US linguistic imperialism has exerted its pull and even before the internet attained critical mass, the product name familiar in US supermarkets and grocery stores had begun to prevail: “Trail mix”.

Packaged gorp and trail mix.  Historically, gorp bars lived up to their name, a typical ingredients list including "peanuts, corn syrup, rasins, salt & lecithin" so commercially available gorp often was "the truth if not the whole truth".  Oddly, even when manufactured in disk-shapes, the product still tended to be described as a "bar".  With the contents of trail mix, there's been a bit of "mission creep" and the packaged product can now include chunks of chocolate and other stuff not envisaged in years gone by.

1958 Buick Special Convertible (left) and 1958 Buick Limited Convertible (right).If asked to nominate one from the list of usual suspects, many might pick Cadillac as the most accomplished purveyor of gorp but historians of the breed usually list the 1958 Buicks as "peak gorp" and for the sheer number and variety of decorative bits and pieces, it probably is unsurpassed.  Unfortunately for the division, a combination of circumstances meant between 1956 & 1958, Buick sales more than halved and while "excessive" gorp wasn't wholly to blame, after GM (General Motors) re-organized things, gorp never made a comeback quite as lavish.       

In automotive styling “gorp” is not synonymous with “bling” although there can be some physical overlap.  The word “bling” long ago enjoyed the now obsolete meaning “a want of resemblance” but in modern use it means (1) expensive and flashy jewelry, clothing, or other possessions, (2) the flaunting of material wealth and the associated lifestyle or (3) flashy; ostentatious.  It seems in these senses first to have been recorded in 1997 and is thought to be from the Jamaican English slang bling-bling, a sound suggested by the quality of light reflected by diamonds.  In the Caribbean, bling-bling came to be used to refer to flashy items (originally jewelry but later of any display of wealth) and the term was picked up in the US in African-American culture where it came to be associated with rap & hip-hop (forks of that community’s pop music) creators and their audiences.  There were suggestion the word bling was purely onomatopoeic (a vague approximation of pieces of jewelry clinking together) but most etymologists list it as one of the rare cases of a silent onomatopoeia: a word imitative of the imaginary sound many people “hear” at the moment light reflects off a sparkling diamond.  The long obsolete meaning “a want of resemblance” came from earlier changes in pronunciation when dissem′blance became pronounced variously as dissem′bler and dissem′ bling with bling becoming the slang form.  There is no relationship with the much older German verb blinken (to gleam, sparkle).

1958 Continental Mark III by Lincoln.

Some critics of design insist "gorp" (like "bling") really applies only to stuff "added on" (ie glued, screwed, bolted etc) but some claim there's no better word when discussing the cars which were a "mash-up" of disparate elements and there's no better example than the Ford Motor Company's (FoMoCo) 1958 Continental which was actually a "Lincoln with more stuff" but named simply "Continental" in the hope it would fool people into thinking it was an exclusive line following the genuinely unique Continental Mark II (1956-1957).  The Continental division had however been shuttered as another victim of the recession and the propaganda proved unequal to reality.  The Mark III's huge body (a remarkable technical achievement because even the convertibles were unit-bodies with no separate chassis) lingered for three dismally unsuccessful seasons and remains as the period's most confused agglomeration of motifs, a reasonable achievement given some of the weird creations Chrysler would release.  Although the sheer size does somewhat disguise the clutter, as one's eye wanders along the length, one finds slants and different angles, severe straight-lines, curves soft and sudden, scallops, fins and strakes.  On McMansions, it's not uncommon to find that many architectural traditions in on big suburban house but it's a rare count in one car.  Despite the diversity, it's not exactly "post-modernism in metal" so even if a re-purposing, "gorp" seems to fit.

In the English-speaking world, bling & bling-bling began to appear in dictionaries early in the twenty-first century.  Many languages picked up bling & bling-bling unaltered but among the few localizations were the Finnish killuttimet and the Korean beullingbeulling (블링블링) and there was also the German blinken (to blink, flashing on & off), a reference to the gleam and sparkle of jewels and precious metals.  Blinken was from the Low German and Middle Low German blinken, from the root of blecken (to bare) and existed also in Dutch.  As viral-words sometimes do, bling begat some potentially useful (and encouraged) derivations including blingesque, blingtastic, blingbastic blingiest, blingest, a-bling & blingistic; all are non-standard forms and patterns of use determine whether such pop-culture constructs endure.  Bling & blinger are nouns, blinged, blingish, blingy & blingless are adjectives, bling-out, blinged-out & bling-up are verbs; the noun plural is blingers (bling and bling-bling being both singular & plural).

Gingerbread: 1974 Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop (left) in chestnut tufted leather though not actually “fine Corinthian leather” which was (mostly) exclusive to the Cordoba (1975-1983) until late 1975 when not only did the Imperial's brochures mention "genuine Corinthian leather (available at extra cost)" but for the first time since 1954 the range was referred to as the "Chrysler Imperial", a harbinger the brand was about to be retired.  Imperial's advertising copy noted of the brochure photograph above: “...while the passenger restraint system with starter interlock is not shown, it is standard on all Imperials.”; the marketing types didn't like seat-belts messing up their photos.  While all of the big three (GM, Ford & Chrysler) had tufted interiors in some lines, it was Chrysler which displayed the most commitment to the gingerbread motif.  After 1958, exterior gorp, while it didn't every entirely go away, it did go into decline but in the mid 1960s, as increasingly elaborate and luxurious interiors began to appear in the higher-priced models of even traditionally mass-market marques, those who disapproved of this latest incarnation of excess needed a word which was both descriptive and dismissive.  The use "gorp" might have been misleading and according to the authoritative Curbside Classic (which called the trend the start of "the great brougham era"), the word of choice was "gingerbread" and truly that was bling's antecedent.

In the stylists’ (they weren’t yet “designers”) studios in the 1950s, what would come to be called “bling” certainly existed (and in the “age of chrome” was very shiny) but the idea of gorp was different in that it was quantitative and qualitative, the notion of adding to a design multiple decorative elements or motifs, even if this meant things clashed (which sometimes they did).  Why this happened has been debated but most historians of the industry have concluded it was the result of the unexpected, post-war boom which delivered to working and middle-class Americans a prosperity and wealth of consumer goods the like of which no mass-society had ever known.  In material terms, “ordinary” Americans (ie wage and salary earners), other than in measures like the provision of servants or hours of leisure, were enjoying luxuries, conveniences and an abundance unknown even to royalty but a few generations earlier.  Accordingly, noting the advice that the way to “avoid gluts was to create a nation of gluttons” (a concept used also in many critiques of rampant consumerism), the US car industry, awash with cash and seeing nothing in the future but endless demand, resolved never to do in moderation what could be done in excess and as well as making their cars bigger and heavier, began to use increasing rococo styling techniques; wherever there appeared an unadorned surface, the temptation was to add something and much of what was added came casually to be called “gorp”, based on the idea that, like the handy snack, the bits & pieces bolted or glued on were a diverse collection and, in the minds of customers, instantly gratifying.  Gorp could include chrome strips, fake external spare tyre housings, decorative fender and hood (bonnet) accessories which could look like missiles, birds of prey in flight or gunsights, the famous dagmars, fake timber panels, moldings which recalled the shape of jet-engine nacelles, taillights which resembled the exhaust gasses from the rockets of spacecraft (which then existed mostly in the imagination) and more.

A young lady wearing gorpcore, Singapore, 2022.  Along with Kuwait, Hong Kong, Monaco and Vatican City, Singapore is listed by demographers as "100% urbanized" but it's good always to be prepared.

Had any one of these items been appended as a feature it might well have become a focus or even an admired talking point but that wasn’t the stylistic zeitgeist and in the studios they may have been reading the works of the poet Matthew Arnold (1822-1888) who attributed to Benjamin Disraeli (1804–1881; UK prime- minister 1868 & 1874-1880) a technique he claimed the prime-minister adopted during his audiences with Victoria (1819–1901; Queen of the UK 1837-1901): “Everyone likes flattery and when you come to royalty, you should lay it on with a trowel”.  Detroit in the late 1950s, certainly laid on the gorp with a trowel and the men and women (there was in the era the odd woman employed in the studios, dealing typically with interiors or color schemes) were students also of the pamphlet Ending the Depression Through Planned Obsolescence, published in 1932 by US real estate broker (and confessed Freemason) Bernard London (b circa 1873 but his life is something of a mystery) and in the post-war years came the chance to put the theory to the test.  This meant not only was there much gorp but each year there had to be “different” gorp so the churn rate was high. Planned obsolescence began as a casual description of the techniques used in advertising to stimulate demand and thus without the negative connotations which would attach when it became part of the critique of materialism, consumerism and the consequential environmental destruction.  Like few before or since, the US car industry quickly perfected planned obsolescence and not content with “annual model changes” sometimes added “mid-season releases” thus rendering outdated something purchased only months earlier.  Unfortunately, just as “peak gorp” began with the release late in 1957 (replete with lashings of chrome and much else) of the 1958 ranges, an unexpected and quite sharp recession struck the American economy and a new mood of austerity began.  That would pass because the downturn, while unpleasant, was by the standard of post-war recessions, relative brief although the effects on the industry would be profound, structurally and financially.

1970 Plymouth 'Cuda AAR in Lemon Twist over Black.  The AAR stood for All American Racers, the teams which campaigned the 'Cuda in the Trans-Am series for 5.0 litre (305 cubic inch) modified production cars.

Not all "added-on" stuff can however be classed as "gorp", "bling" or "gingerbread" and the most significant threshold is "functionalism"; if stuff actually fulfils some purpose, it's just a fitting.  Thus the additional stuff which appeared on the 1970 Plymouth AAR ’Cuda (and the companion Dodge Challenger T/A) were “fittings” because they all fulfilled some purpose, even if the practical effect away from race tracks was sometimes marginal.  Added to the pair was (1) a fibreglass hood (bonnet) with functional air-intake scoop, (2) front and rear spoilers, (3) side outlet dual exhaust system, (4) hood locking pins and (5) staggered size front & rear wheels.  Of course, there were also “longitudinal strobe stripes” which did nothing functional but that seems a minor transgression and in the world of stripes, there have been many worse. 

Futurism

Futurism (pronounced fyoo-chuh-riz-uhm)

(1) A movement in avant-garde art, developed originally by a group of Italian artists in 1909 in which forms (derived often from the then novel cubism) were used to represent rapid movement and dynamic motion  (sometimes with initial capital letter)

(2) A style of art, literature, music, etc and a theory of art and life in which violence, power, speed, mechanization or machines, and hostility to the past or to traditional forms of expression were advocated or portrayed (often with initial capital letter).

(3) As futurology, a quasi-discipline practiced by (often self-described) futurologists who attempt to predict future events, movements, technologies etc.

(4) In the theology of Judaism, the Jewish expectation of the messiah in the future rather than recognizing him in the presence of Christ.

(5) In the theology of Christianity, eschatological interpretations associating some Biblical prophecies with future events yet to be fulfilled, including the Second Coming.

1909: From the Italian futurismo (literally "futurism" and dating from circa 1909), the construct being futur(e) + -ism.  Future was from the Middle English future & futur, from the Old French futur, (that which is to come; the time ahead) from the Latin futūrus, (going to be; yet to be) which (as a noun) was the irregular suppletive future participle of esse (to be) from the primitive Indo-European bheue (to be, exist; grow).  It was cognate with the Old English bēo (I become, I will be, I am) and displaced the native Old English tōweard and the Middle English afterhede (future (literally “afterhood”) in the given sense.  The technical use in grammar (of tense) dates from the 1520s.  The –ism suffix was from the Ancient Greek ισμός (ismós) & -isma noun suffixes, often directly, sometimes through the Latin –ismus & isma (from where English picked up ize) and sometimes through the French –isme or the German –ismus, all ultimately from the Ancient Greek (where it tended more specifically to express a finished act or thing done).  It appeared in loanwords from Greek, where it was used to form abstract nouns of action, state, condition or doctrine from verbs and on this model, was used as a productive suffix in the formation of nouns denoting action or practice, state or condition, principles, doctrines, a usage or characteristic, devotion or adherence (criticism; barbarism; Darwinism; despotism; plagiarism; realism; witticism etc).  Futurism, futurology, & futurology are nouns, futurist is a noun & adjective and futuristic is an adjective; the noun plural is futurisms.

Lindsay Lohan in Maison Martin Margiela (b 1957) Futuristic Eyewear.

As a descriptor of the movement in art and literature, futurism (as the Italian futurismo) was adopted in 1909 by the Italian poet Filippo Tommaso Marinetti (1876-1944) and the first reference to futurist (a practitioner in the field of futurism) dates from 1911 although the word had been used as early as 1842 in Protestant theology in the sense of “one who holds that nearly the whole of the Book of Revelations refers principally to events yet to come”.  The secular world did being to use futurist to describe "one who has (positive) feelings about the future" in 1846 but for the remainder of the century, use was apparently rare.  The (now probably extinct) noun futurity was from the early seventeenth century.  The noun futurology was introduced by Aldous Huxley (1894-1963) in his book Science, Liberty and Peace (1946) and has (for better or worse), created a minor industry of (often self-described) futurologists.  In theology, the adjective futuristic came into use in 1856 with reference to prophecy but use soon faded.  In concert with futurism, by 1915 it referred in art to “avant-garde; ultra-modern” while by 1921 it was separated from the exclusive attachment to art and meant also “pertaining to the future, predicted to be in the future”, the use in this context spiking rapidly after World War II (1939-1945) when technological developments in fields such as ballistics, jet aircraft, space exploration, electronics, nuclear physics etc stimulated interest in such progress.

Untouched: Crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) & Bill Clinton (b 1946; US president 1993-2001) with cattle, 92^nd Annual Hopkinton State Fair, Contoocook, New Hampshire, September 2007.

Futures, a financial instrument used in the trade of currencies and commodities appeared first in 1880; they allow (1) speculators to bet on price movements and (2) producers and sellers to hedge against price movements and in both cases profits (and losses) can be booked against movement up or down.  Futures trading can be lucrative but is also risky, those who win gaining from those who lose and those in the markets are usually professionals.  The story behind crooked Hillary Clinton's extraordinary profits in cattle futures (not a field in which she’d previously (or has subsequently) displayed interest or expertise) while “serving” as First Lady of Arkansas ((1979–1981 & 1983–1992) remains murky but it can certainly be said that for an apparently “amateur” dabbling in a market played usually by experienced professionals, she was remarkably successful and while perhaps there was some luck involved, her trading record was such it’s a wonder she didn’t take it up as a career.  While many analysts have, based on what documents are available, commented on crooked Hillary’s somewhat improbable (and apparently sometime “irregular”) foray into cattle futures, there was never an “official governmental investigation” by an independent authority and no thus adverse findings have ever been published.  

The Arrival (1913), oil on canvas by Christopher Richard Wynne Nevinson (1889-1946), Tate Gallery.

Given what would unfold over during the twentieth century, it’s probably difficult to appreciate quite how optimistic was the Western world in the years leading up to the World War I (1914-1918).  Such had been the rapidity of the discovery of novelties and of progress in so many fields that expectations of the future were high and, beginning in Italy, futurism was a movement devoted to displaying the energy, dynamism and power of machines and the vitality and change they were bringing to society.  It’s also often forgotten that when the first futurist exhibition was staged in Paris in 1912, the critical establishment was unimpressed, the elaborate imagery with its opulence of color offending their sense of refinement, now so attuned to the sparseness of the cubists.

The Hospital Train (1915), oil on canvas by Gino Severini (1883-1966), Stedelijk Museum.

Futurism had debuted with some impact, the Paris newspaper Le Figaro in 1909 publishing the manifesto by Italian poet Filippo Tommaso Marinetti. Marinetti which dismissed all that was old and celebrated change, originality, and innovation in culture and society, something which should be depicted in art, music and literature. Marinetti exalted in the speed, power of new technologies which were disrupting society, automobiles, aeroplanes and other clattering machines.  Whether he found beauty in the machines or the violence and conflict they delivered was something he left his readers to decide and there were those seduced by both but his stated goal was the repudiation of traditional values and the destruction of cultural institutions such as museums and libraries.  Whether this was intended as a revolutionary roadmap or just a provocation to inspire anger and controversy is something historians have debated.  Assessment of Marinetti as a poet has always been colored by his reputation as a proto-fascist and some treat as "fake mysticism" his claim his "visions" of the future and the path to follow to get there came to him in the moment of a violent car crash. 

Futurismo: Uomo Nuovo (New Man, 1918), drawing by Mario Sironi (1885-1961).

As a technique, the futurist artists borrowed much from the cubists, deploying the same fragmented and intersecting plane surfaces and outlines to render a number of simultaneous, overlaid views of an object but whereas the cubists tended to still life, portraiture and other, usually static, studies of the human form, the futurists worshiped movement, their overlays a device to depict rhythmic spatial repetitions of an object’s outlines during movement.  People did appear in futurist works but usually they weren’t the focal point, instead appearing only in relation to some speeding or noisy machine.  Some of the most prolific of the futurist artists were killed in World War I and as a political movement it didn’t survive the conflict, the industrial war dulling the public appetite for the cult of the machine.  However, the influence of the compositional techniques continued in the 1920s and contributed to art deco which, in more elegant form, would integrate the new world of machines and mass-production into motifs still in use today.

Motociclista (Motorcyclist, circa 1924), oil on canvas by Mario Sironi.

By the early twentieth century when the Futurism movement emerged, machines and mechanism were already hundreds of years old (indeed the precursor devices pre-date Christ) but what changed was the new generations of machines had become sexy (at least in the eyes of men), associated as they were with something beyond mere functionalism: speed and style.  While planes, trains & automobiles all attracted the futurists, the motorcycle was a much-favored motif because it possessed an intimacy beyond other forms of transportation in that, literally it was more an extension of the human body, the rider at speed conforming to the shape of the structure fashioned for aerodynamic efficiency with hands and feet all directly attached to the vital controls: machine as extension of man.

The Modern Boy No. 100, Vol 4, Week Ending 4 January, 1930.

The Modern Boy (1928-1939) was, as the name implies, a British magazine targeted at males aged 12-18 and the content reflected the state of mind in the society of the inter-war years, the 1930s a curious decade of progress, regression, hope and despair.  Although what filled much of the pages (guns, military conquest and other exploits, fast cars and motorcycles, stuff the British were doing in other peoples’ countries) would today see the editors cancelled or visited by one of the many organs of the British state concerned with the suppression of such things), it was what readers (presumably with the acquiescence of their parents) wanted.  Best remembered of the authors whose works appeared in The Modern Boy was Captain W.E. Johns (1893–1968), a World War I RFC (Royal Flying Corps) pilot who created the fictional air-adventurer Biggles.  The first Biggles tale appeared in 1928 in Popular Flying magazine (released also as Popular Aviation and still in publication as Flying) and his stories are still sometimes re-printed (although with the blatant racism edited out).  The first Biggles story had a very modern-sounding title: The White Fokker.  The Modern Boy was a successful weekly which in 1988 was re-launched as Modern Boy, the reason for the change not known although dropping superfluous words (and much else) was a feature of modernism.  In October 1939, a few weeks after the outbreak of World War II, publication ceased, Modern Boy like many titles a victim of restrictions by the Board of Trade on the supply of paper for civilian use.

Jockey Club Innovation Tower, Hong Kong (2013) by Zaha Hadid (1950-2016).

If the characteristics of futurism in art were identifiable (though not always admired), in architecture, it can be hard to tell where modernism ends and futurism begins.  Aesthetics aside, the core purpose of modernism was of course its utilitarian value and that did tend to dictate the austerity, straight lines and crisp geometry that evolved into mid-century minimalism so modernism, in its pure form, should probably be thought of as a style without an ulterior motive.  Futurist architecture however carried the agenda which in its earliest days borrowed from the futurist artists in that it was an assault on the past but later moved on and in the twenty-first century, the futurist architects seem now to be interested above all in the possibilities offered by advances in structural engineering, functionality sacrificed if need be just to demonstrate that something new can be done.  That's doubtless of great interest at awards dinners where architects give prizes to each other for this and that but has produced an international consensus that it's better to draw something new than something elegant.  The critique is that while modernism once offered “less is more”, with neo-futurist architecture it's now “less is bore”.  Art deco and mid-century modernism have aged well and it will be interesting to see how history judges the neo-futurists.

Ultracrepidarian

Ultracrepidarian (pronounced uhl-truh-krep-i-dair-ee-uhn)

Of or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside their area of expertise

1819: An English adaptation of the historic words sūtor, ne ultra crepidam, uttered by the Greek artist Apelles and reported by the Pliny the Elder.  Translating literally as “let the shoemaker venture no further” and sometimes cited as ne supra crepidam sūtor judicare, the translation something like “a cobbler should stick to shoes”.  From the Latin, ultra is beyond, sūtor is cobbler and crepidam is accusative singular of crepida (from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís)) and means sandal or sole of a shoe.  Ultracrepidarian is a noun & verb and ultracrepidarianism is a noun; the noun plural is ultracrepidarians.  For humorous purposes, forms such as ultracrepidarist, ultracrepidarianish, ultracrepidarianize & ultracrepidarianesque have been coined; all are non-standard.

Ultracrepidarianism describes the tendency among some to offer opinions and advice on matters beyond their competence.  The word entered English in 1819 when used by English literary critic and self-described “good hater”, William Hazlitt (1778–1830), in an open letter to William Gifford (1756–1826), editor of the Quarterly Review, a letter described by one critic as “one of the finest works of invective in the language” although another suggested it was "one of his more moderate castigations" a hint that though now neglected, for students of especially waspish invective, he can be entertaining.  The odd quote from him would certainly lend a varnish of erudition to trolling.  Ultracrepidarian comes from a classical allusion, Pliny the Elder (circa 24-79) recording the habit of the famous Greek painter Apelles (a fourth century BC contemporary of Alexander the Great (Alexander III of Macedon, 356-323 BC)), to display his work in public view, then conceal himself close by to listen to the comments of those passing.  One day, a cobbler paused and picked fault with Apelles’ rendering of shoes and the artist immediately took his brushes and pallet and touched-up the sandal’s errant straps.  Encouraged, the amateur critic then let his eye wander above the ankle and suggested how the leg might be improved but this Apelles rejected, telling him to speak only of shoes and otherwise maintain a deferential silence.  Pliny hinted the artist's words of dismissal may not have been polite.

So critics should comment only on that about which they know.  The phrase in English is usually “cobbler, stick to your last” (a last a shoemaker’s pattern, ultimately from a Germanic root meaning “to follow a track'' hence footstep) and exists in many European languages: zapatero a tus zapatos is the Spanish, schoenmaker, blijf bij je leest the Dutch, skomager, bliv ved din læst the Danish and schuster, bleib bei deinen leisten, the German.  Pliny’s actual words were ne supra crepidam judicaret, (crepidam a sandal or the sole of a shoe), but the idea is conveyed is in several ways in Latin tags, such as Ne sutor ultra crepidam (sutor means “cobbler”, a word which survives in Scotland in the spelling souter).  The best-known version is the abbreviated tag ultra crepidam (beyond the sole), and it’s that which Hazlitt used to construct ultracrepidarian.  Crepidam is from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís) and has no link with words like decrepit or crepitation (which are from the Classical Latin crepare (to creak, rattle, or make a noise)) or crepuscular (from the Latin word for twilight); crepidarian is an adjective rare perhaps to the point of extinction meaning “pertaining to a shoemaker”.

The related terms are "Nobel disease" & "Nobel syndrome" which are used to describe some of the opinions offered by Nobel laureates on subjects beyond their specialization.  In some cases this is "demand" rather than "supply" driven because, once a prize winner is added to a media outlet's "list of those who comment on X", they are sometimes asked questions about matters of which they know little.  This happens because some laureates in the three "hard" prizes (physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine) operate in esoteric corners of their discipline; asking a particle physicist something about plasma physics on the basis of their having won the physics prize may not elicit useful information.  Of course those who have won the economics or one of what are now the DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) prizes (peace & literature) may be assumed to have helpful opinions on everything.

Jackson Pollock (1912-1956): Blue Poles

In 1973, when a million dollars was a still lot of money, the National Gallery of Australia, a little controversially, paid Aus$1.3 million for Jackson Pollock’s (1912-1956) Number 11, 1952, popularly known as Blue Poles since it was first exhibited in 1954, the new name reputedly chosen by the artist.  It was some years ago said to be valued at up to US$100 million but, given the increase in the money supply (among the rich who trade this stuff) over the last two decades odd, that estimate may now be conservative and some have suggested as much as US$400 million might be at least the ambit claim.

Number 11 (Blue poles, 1952), Oil, enamel and aluminum paint with glass on canvas.

Blue Poles emerged during Pollock’s "drip period" (1947-1950), a method which involved techniques such throwing paint at a canvas spread across the floor.  The art industry liked these (often preferring the more evocative term "action painting") and they remain his most popular works, although at this point, he abandoned the dripping and moved to his “black porings phase” a darker, simpler style which didn’t attract the same commercial interest.  He later returned to more colorful ways but his madness and alcoholism worsened; he died in a drink-driving accident.

Alchemy (1947), Oil, aluminum, alkyd enamel paint with sand, pebbles, fibers, and broken wooden sticks on canvas.

Although the general public remained uninterested (except by the price tags) or sceptical, there were critics, always drawn to a “troubled genius”, who praised Pollock’s work and the industry approves of any artist who (1) had the decency to die young and (2) produced stuff which can sell for millions.  US historian of art, curator & author Helen A Harrison (b 1943; director (1990-2024) of the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center, the former home and studio of the Abstract Expressionist artists Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner in East Hampton, New York) is an admirer, noting the “pioneering drip technique…” which “…introduced the notion of action painting", where the canvas became the space with which the artist actively would engage”.  As a thumbnail sketch she offered:

Number 14: Gray (1948), Enamel over gesso on paper.

“Reminiscent of the Surrealist notions of the subconscious and automatic painting, Pollock's abstract works cemented his reputation as the most critically championed proponent of Abstract Expressionism. His visceral engagement with emotions, thoughts and other intangibles gives his abstract imagery extraordinary immediacy, while his skillful use of fluid pigment, applied with dance-like movements and sweeping gestures that seldom actually touched the surface, broke decisively with tradition. At first sight, Pollock's vigorous method appears to create chaotic labyrinths, but upon close inspection his strong rhythmic structures become evident, revealing a fascinating complexity and deeper significance.  Far from being calculated to shock, Pollock's liquid medium was crucial to his pictorial aims.  It proved the ideal vehicle for the mercurial content that he sought to communicate 'energy and motion made visible - memories arrested in space'.”

Number 13A: Arabesque (1948), Oil and enamel on canvas.

Critics either less visionary or more fastidious seemed often as appalled by Pollock’s violence of technique as they were by the finished work (or “products” as some labelled the drip paintings), questioning whether any artistic skill or vision even existed, one finding them “…mere unorganized explosions of random energy, and therefore meaningless.”  The detractors used the language of academic criticism but meant the same thing as the frequent phrase of an unimpressed public: “That’s not art, anyone could do that.”

Number 1, 1949 (1949), Enamel and metallic paint on canvas. 

There have been famous responses to that but Ms Harrison's was practical, offering people the opportunity to try.  To the view that “…people thought it was arbitrary, that anyone can fling paint around”, Ms Harrison conceded it was true anybody could “fling paint around” but that was her point, anybody could, but having flung, they wouldn’t “…necessarily come up with anything.”  In 2010, she released The Jackson Pollock Box, a kit which, in addition to an introductory text, included paint brushes, drip bottles and canvases so people could do their own flinging and compare the result against a Pollock.  After that, they may agree with collector Peggy Guggenheim (1898-1979) that Pollock was “...the greatest painter since Picasso” or remain unrepentant ultracrepidarians.  Of course, many who thought their own eye for art quite well-trained didn't agree with Ms Guggenheim.  In 1945, just after the war, Duff Cooper (1890–1954), then serving as Britain's ambassador to France, came across Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) leaving an exhibition of paintings by English children aged 5-10 and in his diary noted the great cubist saying he "had been much impressed".  "No wonder" added the ambassador, "the pictures are just as good as his".   

Helen A Harrison, The Jackson Pollock Box (Cider Mill Press, 96pp, ISBN-10:1604331860, ISBN-13:978-1604331868).

Dresses & drips: Three photographs by Cecil Beaton (1904-1980), shot for a three-page feature in Vogue (March 1951) titled American Fashion: The New Soft Look which juxtaposed Pollock’s paintings hung in New York’s Betty Parsons Gallery with the season’s haute couture by Irene (1872-1951) & Henri Bendel (1868-1936).

Beaton choose the combinations of fashion and painting and probably pairing Lavender Mist (1950, left) with a short black ball gown of silk paper taffeta with large pink bow at one shoulder and an asymmetrical hooped skirt by Bendel best illustrates the value of his trained eye.  Critics and social commentators have always liked these three pages, relishing the opportunity to comment on the interplay of so many of the clashing forces of modernity: the avant-garde and fashion, production and consumption, abstraction and representation, painting and photography, autonomy and decoration, masculinity and femininity, art and commerce.  Historians of art note it too because it was the abstract expressionism of the 1940s which was both uniquely an American movement and the one which in the post-war years saw the New York supplant Paris as the centre of Western art.  There have been interesting discussions about when last it could be said Western art had a "centre".

Eye of the beholder: Portrait of Lindsay Lohan in the style of Claude Monet at craiyon.com and available at US$26 on an organic cotton T-shirt made in a factory powered by renewable energy.

Whether the arguments about what deserves to be called “art” began among prehistoric “artists” and their critics in caves long ago isn’t known but it’s certainly a dispute with a long history.  In the sense it’s a subjective judgment the matter was doubtless often resolved by a potential buyer declining to purchase but during the twentieth century it became a contested topic and there were celebrated exhibits and squabbles which for decades played out before, in the post modern age, the final answer appeared to be something was art if variously (1) the creator said it was or (2) an art critic said it was or (3) it was in an art gallery or (4) the price tag was sufficiently impressive.

So what constitutes “art” is a construct of time, place & context which evolves, shaped by historical, cultural, social, economic, political & personal influences, factors which in recent years have had to be cognizant of the rise of cultural equivalency, the recognition that Western concepts such as the distinction between “high” (or “fine”) art and “folk” (or “popular”) art can’t be applied to work from other traditions where cultural objects are not classified by a graduated hierarchy.  In other words, everybody’s definition is equally valid.  That doesn’t mean there are no longer gatekeepers because the curators in institutions such as museums, galleries & academies all discriminate and thus play a significant role in deciding what gets exhibited, studied & promoted, even though few would now dare to suggest what is art and what is not: that would be cultural imperialism.

In the twentieth century it seemed to depend on artistic intent, something which transcended a traditional measure such as aesthetic value but as the graphic art in advertising and that with a political purpose such as agitprop became bigger, brighter and more intrusive, such forms also came to be regarded as art or at least worth of being studied or exhibited on the same basis, in the same spaces as oil on canvas portraits & landscapes.  Once though, an unfamiliar object in such places could shock as French painter & sculptor Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) managed in 1917 when he submitted a porcelain urinal as his piece for an exhibition in New York, his rationale being “…everyday objects raised to the dignity of a work of art by the artist's act of choice.”  Even then it wasn’t a wholly original approach but the art establishment has never quite recovered and from that urinal to Dadaism, to soup cans to unmade beds, it became accepted that “anything goes” and people should be left to make of it what they will.  Probably the last remaining reliable guide to what really is "art" remains the price tag.

1948 Cisitalia 202 GT (left; 1947-1952) and 1962 Jaguar E-Type (1961-1974; right), Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York City.

Urinals tend not to be admired for their aesthetic qualities but there are those who find beauty in things as diverse as mathematical equations and battleships.  Certain cars have long been objects which can exert an emotional pull on those with a feeling for such things and if the lines are sufficiently pleasing, many flaws in engineering are often overlooked.  New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) acknowledged in 1972 that such creations can be treated as works of art when they added a 1948 Cisitalia 202 GT finished in “Cisitalia Red” (MoMA object number 409.1972) to their collection, the press release noting it was “…the first time that an art museum in the U.S. put a car into its collection.”  Others appeared from time-to-time and while the 1953 Willys-Overland Jeep M-38A1 Utility Truck (MoMA object number 261.2002) perhaps is not conventionally beautiful, its brutish functionalism has a certain simplicity of form and in the exhibition notes MoMA clarified somewhat by describing it as a “rolling sculpture”, presumably in the spirit of a urinal being a “static sculpture”, both to be admired as pieces of design perfectly suited to their intended purpose, something of an art in itself.  Of the 1962 Jaguar E-Type (XKE) open two seater (OTS, better known as a roadster and acquired as MoMA object number 113.996), there was no need to explain because it’s one of the most seductive shapes ever rendered in metal.  Enzo Ferrari (1898-1988) attended the 1961 Geneva Motor Show (now defunct) when the Jaguar staged its stunning debut and part of E-Type folklore is he called it “the most beautiful car in the world”.  Whether those words ever passed his lips isn’t certain because the sources vary slightly in detail and il Commendatore apparently never confirmed or denied the sentiment but it’s easy to believe and many to this day agree just looking at the thing can be a visceral experience.  The MoMA car is finished in "Opalescent Dark Blue" with a grey interior and blue soft-top; there are those who think the exhibit would be improved if it was in BRG (British Racing Green) over tan leather but anyone who finds a bad line on a Series 1 E-Type OTS is truly an ultracrepidarian.