And now a word or three about whimsy, a flight of fancy and a relatively useless thing that finds definition somewhere between will-o’-the-wisp (fairy light, practically nothing), and folly (foolishness, or a nonfunctional something). A folly, of the physical kind, is an indulgence, a bit of whimsy writ large and grander than its lesser siblings, but of no greater significance. However, the relative unimportance of this trio (wisp, whimsy & folly), increases inversely in this tiresomely self-important world. So lighten up, I says to myself. There are only two certainties in this life and I don’t need to tell you what they are. Everything is not necessarily significant, meaningful and important, or needs to be. The Italian ‘Niente’ (an earlier No Joke), is a good starting point. And while doing that, embrace your schadenfreude because, like it or not, there’s a little bit of it in all of us and it’s mildly pleasing.
Consider drawing Snidely Whiplash moustaches on people pictures, then plant a few whoopee cushions around the room. Or go commando for a day if that’s your thing (not mine). Put a little whimsy in your life.
Some of you have noticed my Art productivity and issues of No Joke have been slipping for the last few months, and that’s okay. No need for concern - or relief, as the case may be. My output will return in some form. But in the meantime I’ve been indulging in the musical and the whimsical, randomly selecting from the flotsam and jetsam of it all, following the lead of a Peterborough friend who stands guard as The Wizard of Whimsy.
Whimsy is what kids do, the leading edge of curiosity without an expectation of outcome or resolve. For no reason I can recall, a summer pal and I used to cross a fallow farmer’s field behind our family cottages and venture into the forest beyond to climb a tree. It was no particular tree, but only the right one would do - on a whim. Since then I haven’t climbed many trees but the urge of whimsical pursuits has returned. I think this current bout began last summer, compulsively collecting stones at the beach that resulted in Stone Stax.
Perhaps I’ve digressed since last summer, pre-occupied with projects that may or may not be considered Art, which can be problematic if ‘Large A’ art is what you’re after. The beauty of it is - you do it anyway. On a whim.
Two clock cradles, a glass fan of bamboo on a spool pedestal, and nine plaques that took a couple of months of fiddling around. No idea where the plaque idea came from (plywood, 34 cm), and the only patriotic-like thing I’ve ever done, or perhaps will ever do. I should have them trucked to Ottawa.
The Four Follies
#1 The Classical Folly (lower left, 4 Follies), is not about nothing. A bit of foolery perhaps, but not nothing. In fact the classic folly was formative in the evolution of my former profession. In the 18th century most of the grand country estates In Great Britain were designed by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown, the first Landscape Architect some say, known for his capacity to transform sprawling farmlands and forest into picturesque parkland in which the transplanted gentry might frolic.
Following in Capability’s footsteps into the 19th century was Henry Hoare and Humphry Repton (among others), both of whom relied heavily on picturesque paintings to enhance the appearance of natural landscapes to sell their designs, catering to wealthy clients who failed to appreciate the attributes of Capability’s open pastoral landscapes.
As luck would have it, around this time many misty-eyed travellers were returning home from the Grand Tour with romantic notions to be fulfilled. They dreamed of the Elysian Fields in Greek mythology and symbols of fallen monuments that referenced the culture of classical antiquity, idealizing ancient times of learning and culture. It wasn’t long before allés, grottoes and jardins opened out to sweeping vistas punctuated by follies of crumbling columns, temples, medieval towers, and humble abodes (some with hired hermits for authentic effect), peppering the gentrified landscapes.
Follies were costly however, and their idealized pictorial qualities eventually fell out of fashion. Commercial artwork, functional buildings, and children’s playgrounds have taken over most public spaces. Displays of idealism on private property today are mostly garish.
#2 The Existential Folly (upper right, 4 Follies) is the Quintessence of Whimsyism (What!?), truly random and without purpose. It manifests itself only to express the meaningless of existence. It can pop up anywhere, any time, and then disappear. This one is a stairway to nowhere, last seen in an opening in the forest beside a road in northern Ontario.
#3 The Foolish Folly (lower right, 4 Follies) is for people who don’t get it. Or maybe they choose not to - “Where ignorance is bliss, Tis folly to be wise” - though I doubt it. They drive pickups with perpetual two by fours in the back and wear ghillie suits to hide in damp bushes for extended periods of time to do whatever they think they’re doing. It is their folly that something that does nothing makes no sense.
#4 The French Folly (upper left, 4 Follies) is actually a misnomer. It refers to the frivolous and risqué activities that went on at the Folies Bergère, a nightclub in Paris during the late 19th century. It’s dancers were known for their skimpy and extravagance costumes, and the club helped launch many careers, including Maurice Chevalier, Elton John, Edith Piaf and Frank Sinatra. The French translation of “folie” is actually “foolishness”. It was also the setting for Édouard Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère.
Although No Joke can seem to meander sometimes(!), bear in mind that I’m not trying to explain or lecture so much as provide a context from which the painting(s) emerged.
To contact me directly (not through Substack so it won’t appear comments or anywhere else), my email address is: ewbjones6@ gmail.com.
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Back Pages
From The Annals Of Bad Behaviour
Royal Double-Speak - Justice Prevails!
After behaving as guilty as sin for sexually assaulting Virginia Giuffre but never admitting the event ever occurred while surrounded by incriminating evidence, Prince Andrew was essentially muzzled by the Royal Palace and relieved from most of his duties. After his lawyers accused her last Fall of seeking financial profit from her accusations, last month Prince Andrew paid out a large undisclosed settlement to Giuffre and “commended Ms. Giuffre and other survivors in standing up for themselves and others”.
So in short, you rape someone, never admit it happened, pay them off handsomely, and ‘commend’ the victim for being so brave to publicly accuse him, while continuing to deny it ever happened.
Am I missing something here?
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Reminds Me Of A Date I Once Had
In Oklahoma City last month, eight girls, ages 12 and 13, had a sleepover where they watched the movie ‘Titanic’. Abby Broyles, a former television reporter who ran for the U.S. Senate and is now a candidate for the House of Representatives denied she was at the party, but a TikTok video showed otherwise. Other parents in attendance reported that Ms. Broyles swore at one girl and referred to her ‘Hispanic ethnicity’, made a comment about another girls’ acne, and vomited in yet another girls shoes and in a laundry hamper. Following her televised apology Ms. Broyles was criticized for not reaching out to apologize to the girls. She attributed her behaviour to drinking wine and taking a sleep medication. When asked if she had a substance abuse problem she answered “No.”
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He Thought We Should Be Carrying Parasols
A few Sundays ago it was a brilliant winter day at Port Stanley. Despite all the snow and ice the warmth of the sun was palpable again, enticing people and children to linger and stroll along the frozen beach and an adjacent wide flat crust of ice and snow. Further out, the more adventurous scrambled over giant mounds of snow to take in an open view of frozen Lake Erie stretching out to the horizon. In a parking lot near the edge of the beach an angry man in a T-shirt stood in the back of his pickup truck ranting at the Sunday strollers, repeating the message “It’s six degrees out! Happy Family Day you Dumb-Asses!”
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Afterwards She Gave A PED Seminar (Posture, Etiquette and Decorum)
During Bidens’ State of the Union Address, Lauren Boebert, a representative from Colorado, heckled President Biden when he began to tell a story about losing his son to brain cancer.
No Joke Swan Song
There was never any doubt it would come to this. It was just a matter of when - and now the time has come. In its present form No Joke began over a year ago and developed a following that I never expected - I thank you all for your thoughts, support and enthusiasm! Of course, No Joke will not entirely disappear. I’ll be keeping the name and logo, and all issues will remain on the Substack website at teragram3.substack.com for the time being. I sincerely hope it will reappear in another incarnation sooner than later. What that incarnation might be is a matter of speculation. We shall see. Although Substack was set up as a newsletter business with paid subscribers, maybe $5 a month, No Joke was always free. It took the pressure off me, and I enjoyed sharing my art and thoughts. But sometimes I’ve wondered if that was a motivation I needed. Would you have considered subscribing? The request line is open and and I’m open to suggestions!
In a few weeks I’ll be gone on a long awaited Island adventure. (And maybe another one after that!) Hope you have the Spring and Summer you always wished for.
Be happy, be cool. Always. I’ve enjoyed your company.
That’s it!
Did you like/ not like this issue? If you didn’t, lighten up. It’s just a newsletter.
If you did, let me know! You can do it here ⬇︎
Well done sir. Always interesting content. I look forward to a future incarnation.