Gasoline

Gasoline (pronounced gas-uh-leen)

(1) A volatile, flammable liquid mixture of hydrocarbons, obtained from petroleum and used as fuel in internal-combustion engines or as a solvent.

(2) In the slang of drug users, marijuana, especially if notably potent (also as gas and there’s evidence both gas and gasoline have been used of other drugs).

(3) In slang, a cocktail made by mixing a spirit with an energy drink (the original believed to be a combination of vodka & Red Bull (a mix linked with fatalities in certain climatic conditions).

1864: As used to describe the “light, volatile liquid obtained from distillation of petroleum”, gasoline was a variant of Gasolene (trade-marked in the UK in 1862).  Gasolene was a petroleum-based lighting oil, sold by English publisher and tea & coffee merchant John Cassell (1817–1865) who branched out into lighting fuel, marketed as both Cazeline & Cazzoline (his publishing house Cassell & Co endures today as an imprint of the Octopus Group).  The surname Cassell was from the Anglo-Norman castel (a cognate of the English castle), from the Old French castel, from the Latin castellum, a diminutive of castrum.  The -eline suffix was from the Ancient Greek ἔλαιον (élaion) (oil, olive oil), from ἐλαία (elaía).  Etymologists speculate the spelling of gasolene (and thus gasoline) may have been influenced by Gazeline, an Irish product that was a clone of Cazzoline; either the promoters liked the assumed association with “gas” or simply they found it a more attractive word.  It’s thought the general construct (gas+o+line) was built with the “o” representing the Latin oleum (oil) and the ending a borrowing from the chemical suffix -ine.  The -ine suffix was from the Middle English –in & -ine, from the Old French -in, & ine, from the Latin -īnus, from the primitive Indo-European -inos.  It was used (1) to form demonyms (2) in chemistry to form names of chemical substances (especially basic (alkaline) substances, alkaloidal substance, or halogen elements’ (3) in anthropology to form vernacular nouns and adjectives relating to hominoid genera and (4) in commercial use generally.  The alternative form gasolene is extinct in every market except Jamaica.  Gasoline is a noun & adjective and gasolinic is an adjective; the noun plural is gasolines.

Moderne BV-Aral Tankstelle (modern BV-Aral gas station), Bochum, FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany, 1949-1990)), 1958.  The cars are an Opel Rekord (left), a Volkswagen Type 14 (Karmann Ghia) coupé (centre) and a Volkswagen Type 1 (Beetle) (right).  In the background stands the head office of the oil company BV-Aral AG.

In the US, the shortened form “gas” was in common use by at least 1897 but on the pattern typically applied, it’s likely it was around almost as soon as gasoline went on sale.  The “gas station” (place to fill up one’s automobile (“gassing up”) with gasoline by use of a “gas pump”) was recorded in California in 1916 and was part of the US vernacular by at least the early 1920s.  The “gas pedal” (the accelerator) was first recorded in 1908 and is still used even in markets where the term petrol is preferred, as in the phrase “step on the gas” (depress the accelerator (ie go faster)), used generally to suggest increasing speed or effort and not confined to automobiles.  Indeed, ever those driving EVs (electric vehicle) might sometimes be urged to “step on the gas”, and that can be a lively experience give the torque & power now generated by some.  The alliterative “gas guzzler” (a large or powerful car with high fuel consumption) was coined in 1973 after the first oil shock and in 1978 the US federal government imposed the first stage of its long-running “gas-guzzler tax” (CAFE (Corporate Average Fuel Economy)).  The noun gasohol (a gasoline with a small percentage of ethanol was coined in 1975, the mix another reaction to the increase in the oil price and occasional shortages in the era.  To “pour gasoline on the fire” is a suggestion some action is making an already bad situation worse.

Rod Stewart (b 1945), Gasoline Alley (1970).

The term Avgas (the construct being av(iation) + gas) was coined during World War I (1914-1918) when it was found the mix used in automobiles was unsuitable for aircraft, the latter needing a mixture with higher specific energy (ie high octane).  In automotive use, aviation fuel remains of interest to the handful of people still running in their original configuration certain high-performance V8 cars built in the US during the mid to late 1960s with very high compression ratios.  The machines are entertaining to drive, neophytes always impressed by the extraordinary "engine braking" but the drawback is the fuel is not as readily available as "pump gas" so trips to airports or specialist suppliers usually are required; additionally, the stuff is expensive.  The amount that has to be "blended" with pump fuel for the engines satisfactorily to run varies with the model but is one of the aspects making something like a Chevrolet Corvette L88 a high-maintenance mistress.  The use in North America (and a handful of other places) of “gas” to refer to what is otherwise generally known as “petrol” sometimes mystifies because in many markets the usual distinction for road transport is between vehicles fueled by diesel, petrol & gas (usually LPG (liquid petroleum gas) or CNG (compressed natural gas)).

ET (Entertainment Tonight) deconstructs Lindsay Lohan’s dance moves at a New Jersey gas station, October 2019.  With typical attention to detail, ET reported the routine was executed between gas pumps 3 & 4.

In chemistry, gas is matter in an intermediate state between liquid and plasma that can be contained only if it is (1) fully surrounded by a solid, (2) in a bubble of liquid or (3) held together by gravitational forces; it can condense into a liquid, or can (in rare cases) become a solid directly by deposition. The common synonym is vapor (also as vapour).  The word was a borrowing from the Dutch gas, coined by Brussels-based chemist & physician Jan Baptist van Helmont (1580–1644), from the Ancient Greek χάος (kháos) (chasm, void, empty space) and there may also have been some influence from geest (breath, vapour, spirit).  More speculatively, there were also the writings of the Swiss physician, alchemist, lay theologian, and philosopher of the German Renaissance Theophrastus von Hohenheim (circa 1493-1541 and known usually as Paracelsus) who wrote of kháos in the occultist’s sense of “proper elements of spirits” or “ultra-rarified water”, both of which accorded with van Helmont's definition of gas that he introduced to the world in Ortus medicinae, vel opera et opuscula omnia (The Origin of Medicine, or Complete Works (1648)) with the words Hunc spiritum, incognitum hactenus, novo nomine gas voco (“This vapor, hitherto unknown, I call by a new name, ‘gas’”).

Lindsay Lohan gassing up her Porsche, Malibu, California, April 2020.

The use in science in the modern sense dates from 1779; it was adopted for specific applications as technologies emerged or were commercialized: To describe a “combustible mix of vapors” the term “coal gas” was first used in 1794; the use in medicine for the analgesic N₂O (nitrous oxide) was from 1794 (made famous in dentistry as “laughing gas” although the laughter was induced by impurities introduced in the early production processes rather than the intrinsic properties of N₂O).  “Poison gas” dates from 1900, use of which would become notorious during World War I.  The meaning “intestinal vapors” emerged in 1882 while the not unrelated sense of “empty talk” was from 1847 (meaning something like “hot air”) although more positively, by 1953 “it’s a gas” meant “something exciting or excellent”, “a gasser” in 1944 meaning much the same.  James Joyce (1882–1941) in Dubliners (1914) used gas to mean “fun, a joke”, an Anglo-Irish form thought linked to the use of laughing gas in dentistry.  In drag racing “gassers” (so named because they were fueled by gasoline rather than methanol or nitromethane) were the most common of the highly modified road cars in the early days of the sport but the NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) in 1972 retired the category, split participating gasoline-powered vehicles into a number of classes.

Art Deco gas station, Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, California, 1931.

The “gas-works” was first described in 1914 and was a little misleading because they were actually bulk-storage facilities from which gas was distributed either by fixed lines or cylinders delivered to the premises.  The kitchen appliance the “gas-oven” was mentioned first in 1851 although “gas-stove” by then had been in use for three years.  The notorious “gas chambers” used by the Nazis in their mass-murder programmes are most associated with the attempt to exterminate the Jews of Europe but the first were built in 1939, as part of Aktion T4, involving the killing of those with physical and intellectual disabilities; these early facilities used carbon monoxide and were built within Germany's borders.  They served also to murder other prisoners and although by later standards inefficient, were adequate for the numbers involved.  As territories to the east were occupied, similar structures were built in those places and there were even experiments with “mobile chambers”, large, air-tight van coachwork added to truck chassis into which the engine's exhaust gasses were ducted.  Again, these worked but by 1941 the Nazis planned to exterminate as many a eleven million Jews and other "undesirables" and the most efficient method was found to be scaled-up fixed chambers (disguised as shower rooms) into which the hydrogen cyanide-based anti-vermin fumigant Zyklon B was introduced, permitting a throughput at the most productive death camps of some 5500 a day, sometimes for months at a time.  The term “gas chamber” was widely used during the post-war hearings conducted by the IMT (International Military Tribunal) at the first Nuremberg Trial (1945-1946) but as a method of judicial execution, many nations had by then at various times used such structures and the US only recently abandoned the method.

Roadsters line up to gas up, Gasoline Alley, Indianapolis Motor Speedway, May 1960.  This was one of the official postcards sold in the speedway's gift-shop.

Gasoline Alley remains the name of the garage area at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  That wasn’t the original name but in the 1920s, “gasoline alley” was drivers’ slang for the forecourt at the back of the garages where the cars were taken to refuel.  Whether linked or not, there was in the era a popular newspaper comic strip called Gasoline Alley and the use of the name soon extended to the strip dividing the two rows of garages.  It caught the public imagination and the facility managers in the early 1950s added signage, resulting in the whole area becoming associated with the term.  Because of reconstructions necessitated by fires, modernization & expansion, Gasoline Alley is not recognizable compared to its original appearance but the name remains, even thought actual gasoline is now rarely pumped, the open-wheel cars switching first to methanol (1965) and later (2006) ethanol; it’s only when other categories use the track that gasoline is in the tanks.  If the sport is compelled to convert to electric (or hopefully hydrogen) propulsion, the place is so vested with history the name is unlikely to change.

Mushroom

Mushroom (pronounced muhsh-room)

(1) Any of various fleshy fungi including the toadstools, puffballs, coral fungi, morels etc; any of several edible species, especially of the family Agaricaceae, as Agaricus campestris meadow mushroom, or field mushroom, cultivated for food in many places.

(2) A fungus producing such fruiting bodies.

(3) Anything of similar shape or correspondingly rapid growth.

(4) As ellipsis of “mushroom cloud”, a large, mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke or rubble, formed in the atmosphere as a result of an explosion (or other sudden release of energy), especially a nuclear explosion.

(5) Of, consisting of, or containing mushrooms.

(6) Resembling a mushroom in shape or form; to have or assume the shape of a mushroom.

(7) Of rapid growth and often brief duration (to spread, grow, or develop quickly).

(8) To gather mushrooms (typically as “mushrooming”, practiced by a mushroomer).

(9) As “magic mushroom” (used typically in the plural), any mushroomlike fungus that after ingestion induces psychedelic effects (“shrooms” to users, “psilocybin mushroom” to clinicians in some jurisdictions where prescription is now lawful).

(10) In ballistics (of a bullet), to form the shape of a mushroom when striking a soft target.

(11) In bar billiards, any of the mushroom-shaped pegs.

(12) In architecture, a concrete column with a thickened portion at the top, used to support a slab.

(13) In slang, an individual who rises rapidly from obscurity or poverty (now rare and displaced by “upstart”); the figurative sense of something that grows very quickly or seems to appear suddenly remains in use.

1350–1400: Following the usual conventions in English, it may be expected the construct was mush- + -room but those words wholly are unrelated and the ultimate source is unknown.  Mushroom was an alteration (by folk etymology) of the Middle English muscheron & musseroun, from the eleventh century Middle French mousseron, from the Anglo-Norman musherum & moscheron, from the Old French moisseron, from the Late Latin mussiriōn- (stem of mussiriō).  The Old French word had a murky history and etymologists suspect it was from the Old French mosse & moise (moss (from which modern French gained mousse (on the basis of the first known use being of a type of fungus which grows in moss))), from the Frankish mosu (moss) or the Old Dutch mosa (moss).  The Old French was akin to the Old High German mosa (moor, swamp), the Old High German mos (moss, bog) & mios (moss, mire), the Old English mēos (moss) & mōs (bog, marsh), the Old Norse mosi (moss) & myrr (bog, mire), all from the Proto-Germanic musą, muso & miuziz (mosses, bog), from the primitive Indo- European mews- (mosses, mold, mildew).  It displaced the native Old English swamm.  The clipping shroom is a synonym (most popular with users of magic mushrooms) and the spelling mushrump is long obsolete (the modern spelling more or less standardized by the 1560s).  Mushroom is a noun, adjective & verb, mushroomed is a verb, mushrooming is a noun & verb, mushroomer is a noun, mushroomic, mushroomless, mushroomlike, mushroomoid & mushroomy are adjectives; the noun plural is mushrooms.

Lindsay Lohan's mushroom gravy.

Ingredients

3 tablespoons olive oil or butter
3 cups thinly sliced baby portabella mushrooms or white button mushrooms
½ cup finely chopped onion
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour or cup for cup gluten-free flour
3 cups beef broth/stock or vegetable stock
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

(1) In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat.  Sautee mushrooms and onions until they are nicely browned (should take around 7 minutes).  Add in garlic and stir until fragrant (about 30 seconds).

(2) Stir in the flour and cook for 1 minute.  Whisk in the broth, remembering to scrape from the bottom of pan all the "browned bits" (the best part).  Reduce to a simmer and simmer until thickened, then remove from heat.  Taste for salt and pepper and season to taste.

The alternative etymology (noting the Ancient Greek μύκης (múkēs) (mushroom) suggests the Old French may be of pre-Roman origin and it remains a matter of debate among etymologists (almost all lexicographers stick to “of uncertain origin”).  What is agreed is the noun “mushroom” was at first applied to almost any of the larger fungi but later to the agaricoid fungi (especially the edible varieties).  The figurative use for something or someone that makes a sudden appearance in full form dates from the 1590s; it was applied especially an upstart person (bounder) or family (those who rose rapidly from a low station in life).  All that was based on the mushroom’s impressively rapid rate of growth and by the 1740s the figurative use substantially has lost the “upstart” sense and came to be used generally of “expanding or increasing rapidly; to rise suddenly in position or rank”.  The famous (or infamous) “mushroom cloud” was first widely described in 1916 (World War I (1914-1918) a time & place of big explosions witnessed by many with cameras) but the OED (Oxford English Dictionary) cites the first use as dating from US in 1902.  It thus long pre-dates the nuclear-age but the phenomenon would for millennia (long before there were explosives) have been observed by those watching volcanic eruptions.  After photographs of the immediate aftermath of the A-bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki (August 1945) widely were publicized, the term became popular and spread to many aspects of popular culture including film, art and T-shirts.

Germania, Berlin’s sandy soil and the “mushroom” used to test for sinkage

Germania model, circa 1940.  The scale of the buildings was monumental and Speer was aware of the comparisons with the Rome and Athens of Antiquity, even writing (a not wholly original) “Theory of Ruin Value” arguing the importance of designs that might, thousands of years hence, leave “magnificent ruins”.

Until in the twenty-first century the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) began doing things at a scale once thought unsustainable, the urban-redevelopment plan imagined on a grandest scale was that for Berlin designed by Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945).  What was the be the capital of the Third Reich (and, in the minds of the most delusional of the Nazis: “of the world”) would be renamed Germania and, as Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) told Speer’s wife: “Your husband is going to build buildings for me the likes of which haven't been built for 4,000 years.”  Prone to lies and exaggeration, this was one of the occasions the Führer was being truthful and although there was little the plans for Germania that was original, what was impressive was the scale, Speer taking reference points from architectural history (the Pantheon in Rome, the Arc de Triomphe in Paris) and making the German versions bigger.  Although at the time much taken with what he called the regime’s “Empire style”, in his (sometimes reliable) post-war memoirs (Erinnerungen (Memories or Reminiscences) and published in English as Inside the Third Reich (1969)) he admitted the stylistic failure, above all because the architecture wholly was disconnected from the human scale.

The mushroom, Speer's improbable architectural legacy.

Of all that Speer planned for Hitler's megalomaniacal vision of Germania, only small fragments remain but the strangest and largest relic is the Schwerbelastungskörper (heavy load-bearing body) a concrete structure 30 metres (100 feet) tall and weighing 12,650 tons (11,476 tonnes); locals nicknamed it der Pilz (the mushroom).  Located on the city’s southern edge (near modern day Südkreuz station), the giant concrete cylinder was in 1941 erected to test the suitability of Berlin’s sandy soil, something of great significance because most of Germania’s large, representational buildings would be constructed from granite, concrete & steel; although structural engineers could solve the challenges the architects designs presented, the only way to be certain the soil could handle such weight was to conduct a practical, real-time, full-size experiment.  While the data were required for much of what was planned, of particular interest was intended landmark of the Victory Arch which, at 117 metres (384 feet) tall and 170 metres (558 feet) wide would obviously exert much pressure and, having the foundations sinking into the sandy soil was less than ideal.  With a footprint of exactly 100 m³, Speer’s giant, reinforced concrete “mushroom” was placed in a way that would as closely as possible emulate the forces involved; it sat 18 metres (60 feet) deep with the above-ground extending 14 metres (46 feet) high while inside there were a number of measuring devices recording movement.  As things transpired the instruments recorded sinking between 110-180 mm (4.3-7.1 inches) across the six measuring points and that was well beyond the 60 mm (2.4 inches) deemed by Speer as the upper limit of acceptability.  Whether the findings would have compelled a change to the arch or indeed any of Germania’s other gargantuan designs will never be known because, as the tide of war turned, the resources devoted to the project were re-allocated to more urgent tasks and by 1943 Speer, by then also minister of armaments and war production, quietly shut-down the Germania planning office.  So little was built and less survived but the “mushroom” remained and is now a tourist attraction and a site visited by many organized tours.

The mushroom cloud

Tsar Bomba, the largest ever nuclear test, detonated by the Soviet Union in October 1961.

As the photographs suggest, the mushroom clouds generated by large volcanic eruptions and the detonation of nuclear weapons can look similar because the same atmospheric physics are operating despite the underlying energy-release mechanisms being completely different and, counterintuitively, there is no precise TNT (abbreviation of trinitrotoluene (an explosive substance used in blasting)) equivalent threshold above which every explosion produces a mushroom cloud. A mushroom cloud is principally a consequence of buoyancy and atmospheric fluid dynamics, rather than merely a product of energy released, thus the phenomenon can occur with nuclear explosions, large conventional explosions, volcanic eruptions and even especially intense fires.  What an explosion does is produce a very hot, rapidly expanding mass of gas and entrained material and this rises because the air above has less resistance than the ground below; it rises because it has acquired enormous upward momentum and, as it rises, it entrains surrounding air.  The most important mechanism in the ultimate generation of a mushroom cloud’s distinctive shape is a phenomenon plasma physicists call “thermal buoyancy”.

Physics of a mushroom cloud (left), the fluid dynamics an interplay of energy, matter & air temperature and a mushroom cloud T-shirt (right), the images used sometimes for political messaging and sometimes just for dramatic effect. 

Fernando Famiani's photograph of the eruption of Mt Etna, Sicily, Italy, December 2015, shot from the outskirts of the village of San Teodora.

Familiar from many conditions in climate science, as hot material rises, the heated gas being less dense than the surrounding atmosphere, the rising plume entrains cooler air, increasing its volume while reducing its average temperature, a process that continues until its density approaches that of the surrounding atmosphere at which point, the rising material spreads laterally, producing the mushroom cloud’s characteristic “cap”, the outer regions circulating downwards, maintain the shape of the stem.  There are scaling relationships between explosion energy and the size, height and evolution of the resulting plume and consequently, as a general principle, as explosions become larger, a mushroom cloud becomes increasingly likely under appropriate atmospheric conditions.  So the mushroom cloud is a product of the environment; the same release of energy in different conditions (an explosion deep underground; a large underwater explosion; an explosion in a confined structure; energy released over a sufficiently long period rather than instantaneously) will tend not to create one whereas a relatively modest release of energy can produce one if the geometry and atmospheric conditions are favourable.  So, a mushroom cloud is a thing not of yield but of atmospheric conditions.

Death cap mushrooms.

In 2023, Australian mother of two Erin Patterson (b 1974) murdered three of her relatives and nearly killed a fourth by preparing for them a lunch of Beef Wellingtons laced with highly toxic death cap mushrooms.  Amanita phalloides (the more evocative “death cap” the common name) is a basidiomycete fungus and mushroom (one of many in the genus Amanita) and although originally from Europe, it has spread around the planet as have many species (zoological & botanical) in the age of mass-movement of people and goods.  Dangerously, the death cap closely resembles a number of (variously bland and delicious) edible mushrooms used in many dishes so mushroomers must take care when mushrooming (harvesting wild mushrooms).  They’re the most poisonous of all known mushrooms and a single example contains enough toxin to kill an adult human; unsurprisingly, death caps are estimated to be responsible for as many as 90% of the annual death-toll from eating toxic mushrooms.  Quite what is the extent of the annual loss of life is uncertain because in rural parts of Asia (where foraged mushrooms are common in diets) the statistics are not reliable but it’s believed the numbers bounce-around between 100-300.  The principal toxic constituent (hardly affected by cooking or freezing) is α-Amanitin which causes liver and kidney failure.

Erin Patterson, prior to charges being laid.

It was severe liver failure that was the cause of the death of Erin Patterson’s three victims, all of whom died within a week of falling ill (despite one receiving a liver transplant); the sole survivor recovered after several weeks of treatment.  The trial was conducted before a jury that delivered a guilty verdict on all three charges and the judge handed down a sentence of life imprisonment with a non-parole period of 33 years; there was immense international interest in the case and it was the first sentencing hearing in the state of Victoria to be live-streamed.  In what was anyway a macabre tale, one interesting aspect was the way Erin Patterson chose to learn about the nature of the death cap; some will have drawn the conclusion: “When researching murder-methods, don’t use one’s own digital devices.”  The case currently is on appeal, the defense seeking a retrial on several procedural and technical grounds while the state is arguing the sentence was “manifestly inadequate” and there should be no possibility of parole.  On X (formerly known as Twitter), some were even more unforgiving, suggesting: “She should get the chair.”

Cryptic crochet: Erin Patterson crocheted a rat as a gift for her defense counsel.  According to press reports, it was an expression of “thanks” but a crocheted mushroom would have been a nice touch.

In her cell, “mushroom lady” (the public's choice of dub upon the case being publicized) is said to pass the hours crocheting, an intricate, time-consuming business but for those serving long prison sentences, time is relative in a way different to that made famous by Albert Einstein (1879-1955) and for the seven Nazis incarcerated in Spandau prison after the first Nuremberg Trial (1945-1946), “time” often came up in their sometimes awkward conversations.  Grand Admiral Erich Raeder (1876–1960; head of the German Navy 1928-1943) served as prison librarian and, responding to a complaint from one of his fellow inmates that his handing out the four permitted (and by 1954 uncensored) newspapers (one selected by each of the powers administering the prison (France (Kurier), the UK (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung), US (Die Welt) & USSR (Berliner Zeitung)) bound in one folder meant “It will take too long for one person to read all four newspapers”, answered “That doesn't matter. You've got plenty of time, after all.”  Despite that uncompromising start, within two days the admiral relented, averting the threat of mutiny by distributing the papers singularly.

According to Australian neuroscientist Dr Sarah McKay, knitting and crochet can be “deceptively good” for the brain, being an “ideal mix of repetition plus cognitive challenge”, helping individuals regulate their mood and attention span.  She explained the mechanism by pointing out in crocheting: “You have to remember where you're up to, you have to problem solve, you have to make decisions, you're constantly challenging yourself if you're doing more and more complicated patterns but, at the same time, it's challenging but it's low stakes… which I think might be one of the best kinds [of cognitive challenge] we can have.  We're mastering a skill, we're getting better at that and we're kind of just doing the task for the sake of doing the task … it's quite a simple form of mastery and there's something really soothing and good for our mood about that.”  Intriguingly, Dr McKay now has one potential subject available for what would be a unique, longitudinal study: mushroom lady sitting for 33 years in solitary confinement, crocheting stuff.  Such parameters would of course never be approved by any university ethics committee so for researchers interested how such things affect a brain operating in a most unusual environment, there are possibilities. 

Ozempic: The famous “fat jab”.  Now on GLP-1 fat jabs, hopefully the prison authorities will permit mushroom lady (once slender) to create content and open an OnlyFans page with proceeds going to the families of her victims.  There would be a viewership for such content, some of whom would seek contact.

One unexpected coda to the trial was the announcement mushroom lady has been granted access to taxpayer-funded Ozempic (a GLP-1 (glucagon-like peptide-1) appetite suppressant), the official explanation being her inability to pursue an exercise regime while in solitary confinement; because of the nature of her offences, it's expected she'll remain in solitary confinement for the foreseeable future (33 years presumably within the vista of “foreseeable”).  Unfortunately, her previous exercise techniques were not disclosed, something that would have been of interest to many pursuing weight-loss.  Doubtlessly anticipating some public outrage at the thought taxpayers would be footing the bill for mushroom lady to get free “fat jabs”, a spokesperson for Victoria’s Department of Justice issued a statement confirming weight loss drugs were just another medicine and would be provided to prisoners based on a clinician's advice: “Prescriptions are only given by clinicians when there’s a clear medical need - like preventing serious conditions such as type 2 diabetes.  Access to prescribed weight loss medication was introduced in response to recommendations from the Coroner following a death in custody linked to obesity.”  The convicted mass-murderer had told the court she “had a problem” with body image and binge-eating, a perhaps unnecessary confirmation given some of the photographs circulated by the media.

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 sandals and the artist immediately took his brushes and pallet and touched-up the 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”.

One artist who noted with genuine understanding the critique of the ultracrepidarians was John Constable (1776–1837).  Although now regarded among the greatest of Britain’s landscape painters, in his lifetime he enjoyed only modest commercial success and not until the age of 52 was he elected to the RA (Royal Academy of Arts) but was unrepentant about his technique, Julia de Wolf Gibbs (1866–1952) in Art of the National Gallery (1905) reporting him saying: “My pictures will never be popular for they have no handling, but I do not see handling in nature.”  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", if they turn out to give answers which generate audience numbers, controversy or clicks, they become "talent" and may be asked questions about matters in which their expertise is not immediately obvious.  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 gong or one of what some now call the DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) prizes (peace; literature) may be assumed to have helpful opinions on everything.

Portrait of Clyde Cameron (1974), oil on masonite by Clifton Pugh (1924–1990), National Portrait Gallery, Canberra, Australia.  While opinions (of ultracrepidarians and others) might be divided on the merit of the portrait, all would agree that in the 1970s the ties often were dodgy.

Even if not Nobel laureates, among the well-educated there is sometimes a tendency to assume those not so schooled are unlikely to have much useful to say on any topic.  Gough Whitlam (1916–2014; prime minister of Australia 1972-1975) was a good lawyer and scholar of the classics but his knowledge of economic theory or the implications of economic policy notoriously was limited.  As not a few prime ministers have demonstrated, this need not be an obstacle to good governance provided such matters are left to those either with some expertise or are well-advised but Mr Whitlam, thinking the “dismal science” just another brief to be mastered, did like to be involved and during one of many acrimonious discussions, dismissed the opinions of his cabinet colleague Clyde Cameron (1913–2008) with a terse: “And what would shearer know about economics?”  “As much as an ex-classical Greek scholar” was Cameron’s not unreasonable retort and as one who had spent his early adulthood during the Great Depression travelling the country searching for work, he probably felt entitled to comment on public policy.  Whether economic outcomes would have been any better had the shearer been listened to more than the classicist can’t be known but the ineptitude of the administration was typified by the observation of the attorney-general (Kep Enderby (1926–2015 and another skilled lawyer) that: “Everybody should receive at least the average wage”.  Like Mr Whitlam, he meant well but the 1972-1975 ALP (Australian Labor Party) government did at least provide a salutary case study for the next ALP administration on the basis of “what not to do”.

Jackson Pollock (1912-1956): Blue Poles

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

In 1973, when a million dollars was a still lot of money, the NGA (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 although the suggestion in 2016 the value may have inflated to as much as US$350 million was though to be "on the high side".  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.  Among ultracrepidarians, Pollock's nickname was "Jack the Dripper".

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

Although the general public remained uninterested (except in 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 lots of stuff which can for millions be re-sold.  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’s not art, anyone could do 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” by which she meant the wouldn't necessarily come up with anything of which the critical establishment (a kind of freemasonry of the art business) would approve (ie could attach a price tag).

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

In 2010, Ms Harrison 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".

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; 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 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".

Spot the difference: Blue Poles, upside down.

Although the suggestion might offend the trained and discerning eyes of art critics, it’s doubtful that for ultracrepidarians the experience of viewing Blue Poles would much be different were it to be hung upside down.  Fortunately, the world does have a goodly stock of art critics who can explain that while Pollock did more than once say his works should be interpreted “subjectively”, their intended orientation is a part of the whole and an inversion would change the visual dynamics and gravitational illusions upon which the abstraction effects depend would be changed.  It would still be a painting but, in a sense, not the one the artist painted.  Because the drip technique involved “flinging and poring paint” onto a canvas spread across a studio’s floor, there was not exactly a randomness in where the paint landed but physics did mean gravity exerted some pull (in flight and on the ground), lending layers and rivulets what must be a specific downward orientation.  Thus, were the work to be hung inverted, what was in the creative process a downward flow would be seen as “flowing uphill” as it were.  The compositional elements which lent the work its name were course the quasi-vertical “poles” placed at slight angles and its these which are the superstructure which “anchor” the rest of the drips and, being intrinsically “directional”, they too have a “right way up”.  There is in the assessment of art the “eye of the beholder” but although it may be something they leave unstated, most critics will be of the “some eyes are more equal than others” school.

Spot the difference: Mondrian’s 1941 New York City 1 as it (presumably correctly) sat in the artist's studio in 1944 (left) and as it was since 1945 exhibited (upside-down) in New York and Düsseldorf (right).

So although ultracrepidarians may not “get it” (even after digesting the critics’ explanations) and wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not it was hung correctly, that’s because they’re philistines.  In the world of abstract art however, even the critics can be fooled: in 2022, it was revealed a work in Piet Mondrian’s (1872-1944) 1941 New York City 1 series had for 77 years been hanging upside down.  First in exhibited in 1945 in New York’s MOMA (Museum of Modern Art), the piece was created with multi-colored adhesive paper tape and, in an incorrect orientation, it has since 1980 hung in the Düsseldorf Museum as part of the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen’s collection.  The decades-long, trans-Atlantic mistake came to light during a press conference held to announce the Kunstsammlung’s new Mondrian exhibition and the conclusion was the error may have been caused by something as simple as the packing-crate being overturned or misleading instructions being given to the staff.  1941 New York City 1 will remain upside because of the condition of the adhesive strips.  “The adhesive tapes are already extremely loose and hanging by a thread” a curator was quoted as saying, adding that if it were now to be turned-over, “…gravity would pull it into another direction.  And it’s now part of the work’s story.”  Mondrian was one of the more significant theorists of abstract art and its withdrawal from nature and natural subjects.  “Denaturalization” he proclaimed to be a milestone in human progress, adding: “The power of neo-plastic painting lies in having shown the necessity of this denaturalization in painterly terms... to denaturalize is to abstract... to abstract is to deepen.”  Thanks to the curator, now even ultracrepidarians can understand.

Portrait of Dora Maar (1937), oil on canvas by Pablo Picasso, Musée Picasso, Paris, France.  The image to the right, still recognizably a human figure, obviously is “upside down” so the difference is not “difficult to spot”.  

One of the early surrealists, Dora Maar (Henriette Theodora Markovitch, 1907–1997) was associated with the artists in the inter-war years opposed to fascism; her relationship with Picasso would last a decade and yield a number of portraits but her attitude to them was ambivalent.  Still, as Picasso's best remembered muse, a kind of immortality was gained though she may have preferred to be remembered as an artist in her own right rather than “Picasso's muse”.  While there’s a tendency to divide art into the “abstract” and “realistic”, both categories encompass wide variations and probably the only truly useful binary is between “photo-realism” (ie close to indistinguishable from a HD (high definition) photograph) and everything else.  The cubists, futurists and impressionists definitely were abstract artists but their works often could be recognized as distortions of reality (the straddling orphists a bit of a “gray area”) while the nature of the subject was unambiguous.  By contrast, Action Painting (the “drippers” and beyond), Color Field Painting, Geometric Abstraction, Expressionism, Neo-plasticism, Informalism, Op Art and such often wholly was disconnected from anything immediately recognizable as being physical reality and a useful test is compare depictions on the works side-by-side, one hung as the artist intended, the other “upside down”.  Ultracrepidarians and others can then be asked to judge which is which and it’d be interesting to see if professionals are any more accurate than amateurs.  Unfortunately, AI (artificial intelligence) can’t be used as a sort of “control” if well-known works are part of the test because in digitized form their “correct” aspect would be “known” to the bots.

Eye of the beholder: Portrait of Lindsay Lohan in the style of Claude Monet (1840–1926) 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.

Eye of the prompt 1.0: An AI generated portrait of Lindsay Lohan by ChatGPT imagined in "drip painting style", this one using an interpretation which overlaid "curated drips" over "flung paint".  This could be rendered using Ms Harrison's Jackson Pollock Box but would demand some talent.

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.

Eye of the prompt 1.1: An AI generated portrait of Lindsay Lohan by ChatGPT imagined in "drip painting style", this one closer to Pollock’s “action painting” technique.

His drip period wholly non-representational, Pollock didn’t produce recognizable portraiture so applying the technique for this purpose demands guesswork.  As AI illustrates, it can be done but, in blending two incompatible modes, whether it looks much like what Pollock would have produced had he accepted a “paint Lindsay Lohan” commission, is wholly speculative.  What is more likely is that even if some sort of hybrid, a portrait by Pollock would have been an abstraction altogether more chaotic and owing little to the structure on which such works usually depend in that there probably would have been no central focal point, fewer hints of symmetry and a use of shading producing a face not lineal in its composition.  That’s what his sense of “continuous motion” dictated: no single form becoming privileged over the rest.  So, this too is not for the literalists schooled in the tradition of photo-realism but as a work it’s also an example of how most armed with Ms Harrison's Jackson Pollock Box could with "drip & fling" produce this but not necessarily would produce this, chaos on canvas needing talent too.

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 stuff as diverse as math 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 execution or engineering can be forgiven, sometimes to the point they become part of the charm.  New York’s MoMA in 1972 acknowledged 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 (1961-1974 and in the US sometimes (informally) dubbed XKE or XK-E) 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 International Motor Show (now defunct but, on much the same basis as manufacturers east of Suez buying brand-names such as MG, Jaguar and such, the name has been purchased for use by an event in staged in Qatar) when the E-Type made its stunning debut and part of 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 to this day many 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 would prefer it in BRG (British Racing Green) over tan leather) and although as a piece of design it's not flawless (indeed, at some angles (notably three-quarter, rear), the two variants of the coupé can look gawky), anyone who can't see the beauty in a Series 1 E-Type OTS truly is ultracrepidarian.