Twilight

Twilight (pronounced twahy-lahyt)

(1) The soft, diffused light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, either from daybreak to sunrise or, more commonly, from sunset to nightfall.

(2) The period in the morning or, more commonly, in the evening during which this light prevails.

(3) A terminal period, especially after full development, success, etc.

(4) A state of uncertainty, vagueness, or gloom.

(5) Of or relating to, or resembling twilight; dim; obscure:

(6) Appearing or flying at twilight; crepuscular.

(7) The period of time during which the sun is a specified angular distance below the horizon (6°, 12° and 18° for civil twilight, nautical twilight, and astronomical twilight respectively)

1375-1425: From the Middle English twyelyghte (twilight) from the Old English twēonelēoht (twilight), the construct being twi (double, half) +‎ light, literally “second light, half-light”.  Light was from the Middle English light, liht & leoht, from the Old English lēoht, from the Proto-West Germanic leuht, from the Proto-Germanic leuhtą, from the primitive Indo-European lewktom, from the root lewk- (light).  It was cognate with the Scots licht (light), the West Frisian ljocht (light), the Dutch licht (light), the Low German licht (light) and the German Licht (light).  It was related also to the Swedish ljus (light), the Icelandic ljós (light), the Latin lūx (light), the Russian луч (luč) (beam of light), the Armenian լույս (luys) (light), the Ancient Greek λευκός (leukós) (white) and the Persian رُخش‎ (roxš).  It was cognate with the Scots twa licht, twylicht & twielicht (twilight), the Low German twilecht & twelecht (twilight), the Dutch tweelicht (twilight, dusk) and the German zwielicht (twilight, dusk).  The exact connotation of twi- in this word remains unclear but most etymologists link it to "half" light, rather than the fact that twilight occurs twice a day.  In that twilight may be compared with the Sanskrit samdhya (twilight, literally "a holding together, junction") and the Middle High German zwischerliecht (literally "tweenlight").

Enjoying the crepuscular: Lindsay Lohan at twilight.

The meaning "light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon at morning and evening" dates from the late fourteenth century, used often in the form "twilighting").  It was used originally (and most commonly) in English with reference to evening twilight but occasionally, beginning in the fifteenth century, referred also to the light of dawn.  The figurative extension dates from circa 1600.  The "twilight zone" is from 1901 (in a literal sense of the part of the sky lit by twilight), the use extended after from 1909 to refer to topics or cases where authority or behavior is unclear, the origin of that probably the 1909 novel In the Twilight Zone by Roger Carey Craven, the reference is to the mulatto heritage of one character, the idea of what used to be called the "half-breed", one who might be equally be claimed or disowned by either race.  The name was re-used in 2016 by Nona Fernández (b1971) (translated into English by Natasha Wimmer (b 1973)) in a novel about Chile under the dictatorship (1973-1990) of General Augusto Pinochet (1915–2006).  The US TV series of that name is from 1959.  The connotation of “twi” in this context is uncertain with most etymologists concluding it appears to refer to "half" light, rather than the state of twilight which occurs twice a day although in Sanskrit samdhya (twilight) was literally "a holding together” or “junction”, a formation known also in the Middle High German zwischerliecht, literally "tweenlight".  Twilight today is most commonly used with its original meaning of the evening light but from the mid-fifteenth century to the mid-twentieth, it was used also to refer to the morning twilight.  The figurative extension is first recorded circa 1600.

Götterdämmerung

Richard Wagner (1865) by August Friedrich Pecht (1814–1903), oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ney York.

Götterdämmerung (Twilight of the Gods), is the fourth and final part of Richard Wagner's (1813-1883) Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung, usually known as The Ring or Ring Cycle).  Lasting some fifteen hours and usually presented over several days, its debut performance was at the Bayreuth Festival on 17 August 1876.

A great set piece drama and the grandest moment in Opera, the Ring Cycle is about the destruction of the gods and in a final battle with evil powers and although based on an old Norse myth, a dubious translation of the Old Icelandic Ragnarǫk (fate of the gods) meant it entered Modern German as Ragnarökkr (twilight of the gods).  In the Norse, the story was of "ancestral voices prophesying war" between mortals and the gods, a conflict ending in flames and flood but leading finally to the renewal of the world.  Wagner's work differs much from the Old Norse.

Part 1: Das Rheingold (Rhinegold)

The Rig Cycle begins with the dwarf Alberich seizing the gold of the Rhinemaidens. Alberich denounces love to gain possession of the magic ring which gives its wearer ultimate power; the ring is the world’s most desired object.  Rhinegold is the story of the gods; one learns of the suffering of Wotan and the problems the gods have in repaying Fafner and Fasolt, the giants who built Valhalla.

Part 2: Die Walkure (The Valkyries)

Brunnhilde and her father Wotan struggle with their pride to decide the ultimate destiny of mortals, the Valkyries being about the deep, tortured relationship between gods and mortals.  The gods also war with each-other but nobleness, especially in love, prevails over the oaths and the divine promises of the gods. Siegmund, the mortal hero, dies because his father, Wotan, is obliged to obey his wife, Fricka.

Part 3: Siegfried

This is the story of the hero, Siegfried, how he grows to manhood, how he discovers love and loss.  Raised by the Nibelung Mime, Siegfried is young, innocent and fearless and with help from a mysterious wanderer (Wotan in disguise), Siegfried finds the pieces of his father's sword.  Notung reforges the blade and Siegfried kills the dragon Fafner who guards the hoard of Nibelung gold stolen from the Rhinemaidens, taking possession of Alberich's cursed ring.  Siegfried is then drawn to follow a birdsong to find the sleeping Brunnhilde whom fate has destined him to awaken and fall in love with.  Waking her, Siegfried gives the ring to Brunnhilde to symbolize his oath of undying love and fidelity.

Part 4: Götterdämmerung (Twilight of the Gods)

Under an ambiance impending doom, all face the consequences of their choices; the Nibelung Alberich's curse upon the Ring proving prophetic for whoever holds the ring is ultimately destroyed.  Although Wotan's disempowerment was, in part three, foreshadowed by Siegfried breaking his spear, the doomed fate of the gods is sealed when Alberich's evil son, Hagen dupes and cruelly murders the brave mortal hero Siegfried.  Devastated, Brünnhilde has a huge funeral pyre built by the river, takes the ring and tells the Rhinemaidens to claim it from her ashes.  Brünnhilde then mounts her horse and rides into the flames.  As she burns, the Rhine overflows, quenching the fire and the Rhinemaidens swim in to claim the ring.  Hagen tries to stop them but they drag him to his death in the depths.  As they celebrate the return of the ring and its gold to the river, a red glow fills the sky for Valhalla, the last resting place of the gods is ablaze and the gods are consumed by the flames.

Crepuscule

Crepuscule (pronounced kri-puhs-kyool or krep-uh-skyool)

(1) Twilight; dusk.

(2) By extension, a brief period of transition between two states.

1350-1400: From the Middle French crepuscule, from the thirteenth century Old French crépuscule, from the Latin crepusculum (morning or evening twilight), the construct being crepus- (akin to creper (dark, dusky; obscure)) + -culum, the accusative singular of cūlus (a vulgar term for the buttocks) from the Proto-Italic kūlos, from the primitive Indo-European kul-, from kew- (to cover), the cognates for which included the Old Irish cúl (bottom) and the Lithuanian kẽvalas (skin, cover); it was related to cutis (hide).  Crepuscule, crepuscle & crepusculum are nouns, crepuscular is an adjective; the noun plural is crepuscules.

Before the provision of electricity which by the twentieth century meant much of the world was no longer constrained in their activities by the hours of sunlight, even other forms of artificial light could be variously expensive, unavailable or unreliable so sunlight was important, socially and economically so it’s not surprising a number of words evolved to describe the transition from light to dark including blackness, dark, dusk, gloom, obscurity, twilight, sundown, sunset, black, blackout, brownout, cloudiness, dimness, duskiness, eclipse, lightlessness, murk, murkiness, nightfall, blue hour, gloaming, evenfall, fogfall & smokefall.

Lindsay Lohan in daylight (left), as the crepusculum descends (centre) and in the dark of night (right).

The most attractive of these is twilight, an evocative word and one to which poets have always been drawn, whether to suggest some sense of uncertainty or the last days of life before the darkness of death.  Twilight was from the Middle English twilight & twyelyghte, the construct being twi- (double, half-) +‎ light, thus literally “second light, half-light”.  It was cognate with the Scots twa-licht, twylicht & twielicht (twilight), the Low German twilecht & twelecht (twilight), the Dutch tweelicht (twilight, dusk) and the German Zwielicht (twilight, dusk).  In the Old English, the form was twēone lēoht (twilight).  The curious word twilit (the simple past tense and past participle of twilight) has long intrigued etymologists.  According to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) the earliest known use dates only from 1869 and the speculation is it was coined by someone who found the conventional forms (twilitten & twilighted) inelegant.  Smokefall (the close of the day before nightfall, when fog comes) was apparently used as early as the eleventh century and reflects the use of “smoke” in some regional dialects to refer variously to darkness, smoke and fog.  After thing became more precise, it was re-purposed to describe “the soot which falls from a cloud of smoke” and much later was adopted by those creating special effects to mean “an artificial waterfall of smoke for shows”, the smoke (sometimes combined with a mist of fine water vapor) used to reflect images created by light projection.

The development of languages in cultures of course reflects their environment and priorities although the oft-repeated claim that the Inuit and other nations in arctic and sub-arctic regions had 400 (the number does vary from source to source) words for “snow” are misleading although linguistic anthropologists have explored this on a number of occasions and all have concluded there are at least a few dozen and if the net is cast wider to encompass all aspects of snow (types of tracks in snow, suitability for wildlife etc), then the number is in three figures.  Linguistics is a discipline which illustrates structural functionalism in its pure form: words are created according to need and remain in use if they fulfill a useful purpose.  To most living in urban environments in industrial societies “snow” is adequate for most situations but those running ski-fields need more nuances while for the peoples in arctic regions, the correct description of the type of snow they will soon have to traverse can be the difference between life and death.

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.   

Endurance

Endurance (pronounced en-doo r-uhns or en-dyoo r-uhns)

(1) The fact or power of enduring or bearing pain, hardships, etc.

(2) The ability or strength to continue or last, especially despite fatigue, stress, or other adverse conditions; stamina.

(3) Lasting quality; duration.

(4) Something endured, as a hardship; trial.

1485-1495: From the Middle English enduren from the Old French endurer, from the Classical Latin indūrō (to make hard).  Enduren displaced the pre-900 Old English drēogan (congnate with the Gothic driugan (to serve in arms) which survives dialectally as dree (tedious; dreary)).  The meaning "ability to endure suffering" was first noted in the 1660s. The older forms, enduraunce, indurance, induraunce are all long obsolete.  Construct was endure + ance; the suffix –ance (a process or action) added to the stem of verbs to form a noun indicating a state or condition, such as result or capacity, associated with the verb, this especially prevalent with words borrowed from French.  Many words ending in ance were formed in French by alteration of a noun or adjective ending in ant; ance was derived from the Latin anita and enita.

Endurance Racing

There’s no precise definition of endurance racing, it's just a form of competition of greater duration of length than most.  It’s bounced around over the years but events now regarded as endurance races tend to be over a distance of 625 miles (1000 km) or twelve or twenty-four hours long.  Long races existed from the early days of motorsport, the first twenty-four hour event being on an oval circuit at Dayton, Ohio in 1905, followed soon by the opening event at the purpose-built Brooklands circuit in 1907.  One of the epic races was the Targa Florio, first run in 1906.  Held originally on public roads in the mountains of Sicily near the capital Palermo, it was for decades the oldest event for sports cars and a round of the World Sportscar Championship between 1955-1973.  The first few races were a lap of the whole island but as the volume of traffic and competitors increased, it became too disruptive and the track length was reduced to the 72 kilometre (45 mile) Circuito Piccolo delle Madonie, each Targa Florio run over eleven laps.  Safety concerns and the oil crisis conspired to remove it from the world championship after 1973 and it was finally cancelled in 1977.  A much toned-down event is now run annually as a round of the Italian Rally Championship.

Further north, the thousand-mile Mille Miglia, also run on public roads, was first staged in 1927 and although soon one of the classic events on the calendar, it's the 1955 race to which a particular aura still attaches.  Won by Stirling Moss (1929-2020) and  Denis Jenkinson (1920-1996), they used a Mercedes 300SLR, a car which technically complied with the sports car regulations but was actually the factory's formula one machine (W196) with a bigger engine and a streamlined body with seats for two.  It wasn't exactly a "grand prix car with headlights" as some claimed but wasn't that far off.  Officially the W196S (Sports) in the factory register, for marketing purposes it was dubbed (add badged) as the 300SLR to add lustre to the 300SL Gullwing coupé then on sale.

Mercedes-Benz W196S (300SLR), Mille Miglia, 1955.

The race was completed in 10 hours, 7 minutes and 48 seconds, a average speed of 157.650 km/h (97.96 mph) (the course was never exactly 1000 miles and that year was 1,597 km (992 miles) and at times, the 300SLR touched almost 305 km/h (190mph) which enabled Moss to cover the last 340 km (211 miles) at an average speed of 265.7 km/h (165.1) mph.  The record set in 1955 will stand for all time because the Italian government banned the Mille Miglia after two fatal crashes during the 1957 event, one of which killed nine spectators and a cursory glace at the photographs showing crowds clustered sometimes literally inches from the speeding cars might suggest it's surprising not more died.  Today, the name of the Mille Miglia endures as a semi-competitive tour for historic racing cars which, run since 1977.  By contrast, events run on closed courses have survived, the most famous of which is the 24 Heures du Mans (the Le Mans 24 Hour) and well-known 1000 km, 12 & 24 hour races have been run at Sebring, Laguna Seca, Daytona, Bathurst, the Nürburgring and Spa Francorchamps.

Endurance racing: Porsche 917Ks sideways in the wet; Vic Elford (1935-2022, right #11) and Pedro Rodriguez (1940-1971, left #10), BOAC 1000km, Brands Hatch, April 1970.  The race was the third round of the 1970 World Sports Car Championship.  Chris Amon (1943–2016) put a Ferrari 512S on pole but the 1000 was won (by 5 laps) by Pedro Rodríguez & Leo "Leksa" Kinnunen (1943–2017) in a Porsche 917K entered by John Wyer (1909–1989).  Amon was impressed by the speed maintained by Rodríguez in atrociously wet conditions (although much improved from the lethally unstable version seen a year earlier, even by 1970 the 917 could be difficult to handle even on a dry surface) and is said to have remarked to his pit crew: "Can somebody tell Pedro it's raining?"

Some endurance required: In 2023, the Dowse Art Museum in Wellington, New Zealand, staged the exhibition exploring the 2014 installation at Fort Delta, Melbourne in July 2014 in which New Zealand based artist Claire Harris (b 1982) watched Ms Lohan's entire filmography back to back in a live performance art work over 28 hours.  The issues discussed included “how” and “why” and there were practical tips on developing the stamina required for such feats of endurance.  The companion 34 page illustrated book Happy birthday Lindsay Lohan, 2011-2014 is available on request from the National Library of New Zealand.  The pages are unnumbered, the rational for which is not disclosed.

As a general principle, an "endurance event" tends to be a longer version of something so it’s thus a relative as well as an absolute term.  In sport, something like the Marathon, run over 42 kilometres (26 miles) is the endurance event of running where as the shorter contests are sprints (such as the 100 or 200 meters) or “distance” races (such as the 5,000 or 10,000 metres).  However, were the Marathon not to exist, then the 10,000 would be the “endurance” event of the Olympic Games, the tag attaching to whatever is the longest form.  In other fields, “endurance” can be more nuanced because what some find an “act of endurance” to sit through, others relish and long for more.  Richard Wagner’s (1813–1883)'s Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung, 1876 (usually referred to as “The Ring Cycle”)) is an opera of epic length in cycle consisting of four separate pieces, each of the composer regarded as “an opera”:

Das Rheingold: (The Rhinegold; some 2½ hours with no intermission)
Die Walküre: (The Valkyrie; some 4½-5½ hours with intermissions)
Siegfried: (some 5-5½ hours with intermissions)
Götterdämmerung: (Twilight of the Gods; some 5-6 hours with intermissions)

So, a performance of the Ring Cycle absorbs between 15-17 hours and is thus usually spread over several days, some productions staging the event across a month, each performance (usually three or four) held on a weekend.  Grand Opera really is the West’s greatest artistic achievement and among the aficionados, the Wagnerian devotees are the most dedicated and passionate, some travelling the world to compare and contrast different productions of the Ring.  For them it’s not usually a test of endurance (although a production of which they don’t approve will be a long 17 hours) because they relish every moment but for others it’s probably unthinkable.  Although it’s long been attributed to him, the US humorist Mark Twain (1835-1910) may never have said: “Wagner’s music isn’t as bad as it sounds”, the back-handed compliment reflects the view of the majority, brought up on shorter, more accessible forms of entertainment.  For them, one hour of Wagner would be an endurance test.

The three later individual pieces of The Ring are themselves epic-length operas and Wagner wrote a number in this vein including Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (The Master-Singers of Nuremberg, 1868; 5-6 hours), Parsifal (1882; 4-5 hours), Lohengrin (1850; 4 hours), Tannhäuser (1845; 4 hours) and the incomparable Tristan und Isolde (1965; 4-5 hours).  What came to define “epic length” in Opera was: (1) the typical length of other works and (2) the powers of endurance of those on stage, in the orchestra pit or in the audience.  Other composers did tend to write shorter operas although Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791–1864), Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901), Richard Strauss (1864–1949), Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868) and Hector Berlioz (1803–1869) all produced works running over four hours and it was not unusual for there to be two or even three intermissions.  For profligacy with time however, none match Wagner although some modern composers have written very long operas although their length seems other to be their only memorable feature.

Epics: On vinyl, tracks did lengthen and if the physical limits of vinyl were exceeded, the piece could be spread over more than one disk.  Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (1968, left) was 17:05 in length, Jethro Tull’s Thick as a Brick (1972, centre) was 43:46 (over two disks) while Rush’s 2112 (1976, right) was 20:33.

Cast adrift from the moorings of endurance by internet streaming making available infinite playing time, “songs” in the twenty-first century can last literally hours and an illustrative example is The Rise and Fall of Bossanova by PC III (Michael J Bostwick) which weighs in at a Wagarian 13 hours, 23 minutes, and 32 seconds.  It seems between 2016-2020 to have held the Guinness World Record as the longest song officially released although whether this should be thought a proud boast or admission of guilt will be up to those who listen.  Ominously, one of the implications of AI (artificial intelligence) is that in theory, someone could release a song which, without hesitation, deviation or repetition, goes on forever.

Andy Warhol's Empire is occasionally screened but always on the basis that viewers may "come and go" at any point in its eight hour run-time.

In pop music, the “epic length piece” was shorter by virtue of technological determinism.  Modern pop music (as the term is now understood) began in the 1950s and the standard form of distribution by the 1960s was the LP (long-playing) vinyl album, first released in 1948.  Because the technology of the time limited the duration of music which could fit on the side of a LP disk to about 27 minutes, that became the upper limit for a single song and at that length, it could be called “epic length” or just “an epic”.  Some bands and individuals did produce “epics” with varied results and some were probably better enjoyed (or endured) with drugs.  Not discouraged by the limitations of vinyl, others noted the possibilities offered by double (2 disks) or even triple (3 disks) albums and penned “rock operas”, the need to change disks a convenient operatic touch in that it provided a intermission.  Andy Warhol (1928–1987) took the idea of the endurance test to celluloid, in 1965 releasing Empire, a silent film shot in black & white showing New York’s Empire State Building at night (form a single aspect).  Running for some eight hours and designed to be viewed in slow-motion, it received critical praise from the usual suspects and little interest among even those who frequented art-house cinemas.  Warhol issued as statement saying the purpose was “to see time go by” and it can’t be denied he succeeded, perhaps even more convincingly than his earlier five hour epic Sleep (1964) which was an edited collection of takes of a man sleeping.  Similar scenes may have been found among those who found watching Empire beyond their powers of endurance.

Acersecomic

Acersecomic (pronounced a-sir-suh-kome-ick)

A person whose hair has never been cut.

1623: From the Classical Latin acersecomēs (a long-haired youth) the word borrowed from the earlier Ancient Greek form ἀκερσεκόµης (with unshorn hair), constructed from komē (the hair of the head (the source of the –comic)) + keirein (to cut short) + the prefix a- (not; without).  The Latin acersecomēs wasn’t a term of derision or disapprobation, merely descriptive, it being common for Roman and Greek youth to wear their hair long until manhood.  Acersecomic appeared in English dictionaries as early as 1656, the second instance noted some thirty years later.  Although of dubious linguistic utility even in seventeenth century English, such entries weren’t uncommon in early English dictionaries as editors trawled through lists of words from antiquity to conjure up something, there being some marketing advantage in being the edition with the most words.  It exists now in a lexicographical twilight zone, its only apparent purpose being to appear as an example of a useless word.

The -comic part of the word is interesting.  It’s from the Ancient Greek komē in one of the senses of coma: a diffuse cloud of gas and dust that surrounds the nucleus of a comet.  From antiquity thus comes the sense of long, flowing hair summoning an image of the comet’s trail in the sky.  The same -comic ending turns up in two terms that are probably more obscure even than acersecomic: acrocomic (having hair at the tip, as in a goat’s beard (acro- translates as “tip”) and xanthocomic (a person with yellow hair), from the Greek xanthos (yellow).

Fifteen year old Skye Merchant was genuinely acersecomic until July 2021 when she had her first haircut, part of her fund-raising efforts for cancer research.  The trimmed locks were donated to cancer patients.

Lindsay Lohan as Rapunzel, The Real Housewives of Disney, Saturday Night Live (SNL), 2012.

In recent interviews, Russian model Olga Naumova didn't make clear if she was truly an acersecomic but did reveal that in infancy her hair was so thin her parents covered her head, usually with a babushka headscarf.  It's obviously since flourished and her luxuriant locks are now 62 inches (1.57 m) long, a distinctive feature she says attracts (1) requests for selfies, (2) compliments, (3) propositions decent & otherwise, (4) public applause (in Thailand), (5) requests for technical advice, usually from women asking about shampoo, conditioner & other product while (6) on-line, men sometimes suggest marriage, often by the expedient of elopement.  Perhaps surprisingly, the Moscow-based model doesn't do "anything extraordinary" to maintain the mane beyond shampoo, conditioner and the odd oil treatment, adding that the impressive length and volume she attributes wholly to the roll of the genetic dice.  Her plaits and braids are an impressive sight.

Olga Naumova in motion.

A possible acersecomic although there is some evidence of at least the odd trim.  These are among the less confronting images at People of Walmart which documents certain aspects of the North American experience in the social media age.  Users seem divided whether People of Walmart is a celebration of DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion), a chronicle of decadence or a condemnation of deviance.