Newer posts are loading.
You are at the newest post.
Click here to check if anything new just came in.

March 25 2013

Kommentar: Kein Grund zur Depression wegen des Leistungsschutzrechts

Ausgehend von einer Diskussion bei Facebook, hier nun noch einmal mein nun leicht ergänzter Kommentar zu Reaktionen auf die Bundesratsentscheidung zum Leistungsschutzrecht für Presseverleger:

Warum gibt es keinen Grund zur Depression?
Das was die Verlage, die das LSR so vehement vorangetrieben haben, am Ende bekommen werden, wird aus nichts außer Ärger, Anwaltskosten in Millionenhöhe, Einbruch der Reichweite und schlechter Stimmung ihrer Leser oder potentiellen Leser bestehen. Mit gewaltigen Kollateralschäden für Suchmaschinen, wie auch immer geartete Aggregatoren und alle die diese Dienste nutzen. Für alle Seiten nach wie vor ein miserables unkalkulierbares Gesetz.

Die -wenn man sie so bezeichnen kann und will- Netzgemeinde hat jedoch ihren Teil dazu beigetragen, dass aus den Forderungen am Anfang, am Ende faktisch nur noch eine leere Hülle, ein Lex Garnichts geworden ist. Wer sich in der Netzgemeinde für alleinverantwortlich in Fragen von technischem Avantgardismus und Durchsetzung bzw. Verhinderung von gesetzlichen Maßnahmen hält, der mag bemängeln, dass nicht alles gelungen ist, was auf den Fahnen stand. Es ist jedoch falsch, hier eine Niederlage daraus zu konstruieren.

Die Grenzen zwischen Netzszene und anderen Playern in der Gesellschaft sind inzwischen fließend. Es gibt nicht das eine Biotop das aktiv wird. Vielmehr sind es viele Faktoren die über Erfolg oder Misserfolg entscheiden. Diejenigen, die sich seit Jahren auf den unterschiedlichsten Ebenen mit dem Leistungsschutzrecht auseinandersetzen und dagegen argumentieren und arbeiten, können sich vielmehr auf die Schulter klopfen. Auf der anderen Seite stand die “mächtigste Lobby Deutschlands” (Eigenbezeichnung eines führenden Verlagsvertreters. Mit allen Tricks und einer kampagnenartigen Berichterstattung, die mehr als grenzwertig war, haben sie es nicht geschafft, das zu bekommen was sie gefordert haben. Auch weil es die vielen unterschiedlichen, stärkeren und schwächeren Stimmen der Netzgemeinde gab, die bis zuletzt argumentiert haben, anstatt mit miesen Tricks zu arbeiten.

Das ist ein Verdienst, mag es teilweise am Ende ein stückweit auch ein Fehler sein. Die Auseinandersetzung mit Argumenten ist aber ein hohes Gut. Ich habe nicht das Gefühl, dass hier irgendeine Form der Depression angebracht wäre. Man sollte die letzten fehlenden fünf bis zehn Prozent sportlich nehmen und beim nächsten Mal überlegen, ob man neben den Argumenten auch stärker politisch agiert. Dies sollte aber gut abgewogen werden.

Zudem ist aktuell noch völlig offen ob das Gesetz jemals das Licht der Welt erblickt. Weder hat der Bundespräsident das Gesetz unterzeichnet, das von vielen bereits im Vorfeld als verfassungswidrig bezeichnet worden war, noch wurde ein aus meiner Sicht zwingendes Notifizierungsverfahren bei der Europäischen Kommission durchgeführt. Wer jetzt den Kopf in den Sand steckt, macht es wie manche Presseverleger, die auf Teufel komm raus irgendwas haben wollten, damit sie zumindest in ihren Kreisen behaupten können, sie hätten gewonnen. Hochmut kommt vor dem Fall, und der Abgrund liegt direkt vor ihnen.

Schluß also mit der um sich greifenden Depression, den Schuldzuweisungen und dem Gejammere. Dass alle -auch die Netzgemeinde- immer besser und professioneller werden muss, steht außer Frage. Reflektion und Kritik immer, für eine Depression und ein Negieren der Erfolge sollte aber kein Platz sein.

May 18 2012

Bob Carlos Clarke, husband and father

Bob Carlos Clarke was a famous fashion photographer who killed himself six years ago leaving behind his wife Lindsey and their daughter Scarlett, now 20. But, they tell Britt Collins, they have been determined not to let it 'take them to hell'

Sometimes Lindsey Carlos Clarke was so angry with her late husband that she wanted to burn all his work, change her name and disappear. Instead, she opened a gallery and is consumed by keeping the legacy of his "dark genius" burning. "Bob was the most exciting man I ever met. He was wild, dangerous, sexy and out of control," she says, sitting in her immaculate white living room, with its one violet-painted wall, a perfect backdrop for his striking black-and-white photographs. "When we were young in the 70s, before Bob was famous, we made a romantic pact that we'd kill ourselves when we looked too old in the mirror."

Lindsey was never serious, but on 25 March 2006, her husband of 30 years, the celebrated fashion and glamour photographer Bob Carlos Clarke, walked a mile to Barnes station in south-west London and jumped in front of a train. Aged 55, he left behind Lindsey and their teenage daughter, Scarlett. Three weeks earlier, he had checked into the Priory rehab centre – not for the usual celebrity reasons of drugs, drink or exhaustion, but severe clinical depression.

A prolific but troubled provocateur, the Irish-born Bob Carlos Clarke was known for his pictures of rock stars and erotic, sometimes shocking, images of glamorous women. Often referred to as the British Helmut Newton, he shot Dita von Teese in a corset and stilettos, holding knives; Rachel Weisz in an oil-slick rubber catsuit; a naked and pregnant Yasmin Le Bon. But the most extraordinary images were for Marco Pierre White's White Heat, looking like a rock star in his white-hot kitchens.

"Sometimes I can't come to terms with the fact that he's not coming back," says Lindsey, who is in her late 50s. "One of the things that happens to grieving people is they secretly think they're crazy. I have moments when I don't feel sane. I had a terrible desire to set fire to his whole archive and I think: Oh God, is this ever going to go away? The violence of his death was hard to deal with. When the police appeared that afternoon, I knew it was over. Scarlett rushed to the door and burst into tears before anything was even said. I couldn't allow myself to fall apart because I didn't want her to feel she'd lost both parents." 

She stops and looks away, her eyes misting. "It was terrible for Scarlett. That night, she got into bed with me and started rifling through pictures of Bob and me, and asking incredibly searching questions. I told her, 'You can make a decision, you can either let this terrible thing take you to hell or you can let it empower you.'"

For Scarlett, now 20, the pain of losing her father is still raw and she is struggling to make sense of it. "I don't think you ever get over something like that," she says. "I never had anyone close to me die so I hadn't ever had to deal with that sort of grief. There are times when I feel really low, but it comes and goes. It's not something you can control. I'm dealing with it every day and probably will for ever."

She misses him terribly, but never felt abandoned or betrayed as people often do after a loved one kills themself. "I'm just pissed off that I didn't get to hang out with him as an adult," she says without a hint of anger or bitterness. "We would have had a lot of fun. I grew up with someone who would spend a week setting up a prank just for his own amusement and [who] could also be very cruel, so black humour is a big thing in our family. My last memories of Dad are from going to see him on a Sunday night in the Priory and having dinner together."

She knew her father was a wildly unconventional character but was unaware how fragile and unstable he was.

Her mother – who tried to protect Scarlett – had been quietly enduring his erratic behaviour. "It was a long time before I realised Bob wasn't right," Lindsey admits. "When you're used to dealing with someone who's dysfunctional you become dysfunctional yourself. Months before his death, he had successful shows in London and Madrid, but seemed uninterested, distracted and joyless.

"By September 2005, he had begun to behave oddly. He moved into our basement flat and every morning I'd go down and find the front door open. He would go missing and I'd find him in his van, just sitting. I'd say, 'Hello, darling.' And he'd say, 'I don't know what I'm doing.' He became fearful of everything. The doctors said he was psychotic, but who knows?

"The death of our friend [the photographer] Patrick Lichfield was a further blow. He was crushed and said he envied Patrick. When I went to Patrick's memorial in November 2005, Bob was already in the Priory."

Bob and Lindsey met in London in the summer of 1976, when she was working as a model, and she was drawn to his dark humour and playfulness. "The first shoot we did was the pictures on a motorbike for his book Obsession and we became friends."

They were both married and started a heated and obsessive two-year affair before eventually leaving their partners. For a while during the 1980s, they were a golden couple, with a starry circle of friends, from Marco Pierre White to Keith Richards. Flitting around the world for shoots and shows, there were exotic holidays in Mustique, parties with the Rolling Stones.

"Bob was very entertaining, moody and cruel," she says, describing his constant obsessions with models, infidelities and disappearances. All the while Lindsey looked after Bob's business and their daughter. As she said in an interview three years ago: "I told him, 'You can have your girls in your studio but don't ever bring them back here.' The beach house was supposed to be pure as well, but that didn't last long. He said to me, 'I don't enjoy sex unless it's secret.' 

"I felt depressed and asked him to see a therapist and he said, 'But I like being a shit.' I thought about leaving him, but ultimately I had taken it upon myself to be with somebody who was complicated."

As Bob's career took off, and with a baby, Lindsey hoped her husband would be happier. In 1997, five years after Scarlett was born, the couple were married. "I know Bob loved me, but he had a difficult time giving back because he was so damaged and never came to terms with the big, dark mess of his childhood. He couldn't be there for me because he could hardly be there for himself."

Sometime in the late 90s, her husband grew disillusioned with everything. "Nothing was ever good enough for Bob," says Lindsey. "He wanted to be a legend, but he became depressed about his work [partly because people had begun to use digital photography], with himself. He worried about growing old, losing his looks and not being the in-fashion thing. I'd say, 'Don't be silly, we have a beautiful house, another by the sea, a lovely daughter, a studio, money in the bank.'

"I always thought that people who talked about suicide never did it," she says. "We were on holiday in France with [the fashion editor and stylist] Isabella Blow eight years ago. Scarlett adored Isabella and was riveted by her because she brought these boxes of hats. I said to Scarlett one morning, 'Let's take Isabella a cup of tea.'

"We knocked on the door and Isabella said, 'I think I'm going to kill myself.' I just said, 'Let me know either way because I'm setting the table for lunch.' You get exhausted with people."

Toughest, Lindsey says, is letting go of the guilt. "With any suicide, you feel like it's your fault and could have stopped it. Looking back, I feel sad about how vulnerable Bob was."

Scarlett scarcely remembers much about the Saturday afternoon when the police turned up on their doorstop. She was expecting to visit her father that weekend. "I thought he'd been in an accident but I only had to see Mum's face to realise he was dead. I don't even think I cried. I was in shock. Now, when I think back, I feel sad but at the time I didn't know how to react."

Lindsey says their shared sense of black humour kept them afloat. In some ways, she says, she feels detached, as though these events happened to someone else. "I can relive everything in strange little pieces: the police arriving, the fingerprints, the funeral. It has taken me five years to do the headstone."

Lindsey's terraced house – light, airy and full of glittering objects – is virtually a shrine to Bob, his photographs on the walls and stacks of his books on every surface. "It's been hard letting go – I still haven't."

Lindsey may not have moved on but she is much happier now – last summer she and the professional golfer Andrew Raitt were married.

She shows me a stark black-and-white photograph Scarlett took of her father, when she was only 13, which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London. "She's multi-talented and has a natural ability to take pictures," says Lindsey.

Scarlett, it seems, has inherited the best of her father.

Bob Carlos Clarke: One-Offs, a retrospective exhibition, is at the Little Black Gallery, 13a Park Walk, London SW10, from 28 May to 30 June thelittleblackgallery.com


guardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds


March 18 2011

Dürer's Melencolia I – a masterpiece, and a diagnosis

There is no more insightful or enduring study of the troubled mind than Albrecht Dürer's 1514 engraving

Albrecht Dürer's Melencolia I has cut its black lines deep into the modern imagination. It shows a winged being who sits in apparent dejection, surrounded by unused objects of science, craft and art, holding a pair of dividers as she broods. Her face is a mask of darkness, but her bright eyes glare, revealing an acuteness of mind that contrasts with her exhausted pose.

In 16th-century portraits, the head resting on hand pose was to become a universal image of the soul afflicted by sad thoughts – as in Moretto da Brescia's Portrait of a Young Man in London's National Gallery. The influence of Dürer's print is everywhere in Renaissance Europe. But what is equally amazing is the power of this 1514 work to fascinate us today, as when Günter Grass uses Dürer's print to meditate on modern politics in his 1973 book From the Diary of a Snail.

Dürer's work of art continues to appeal because it is a diagnosis. It describes a malaise in the way a doctor might list symptoms. Sitting around, head in hand? Face a bit shadowy? My diagnosis: melancholia. Helpfully, Dürer even names this condition on the banner held aloft by a bat-like creature.

Since people still suffer from melancholy – more likely calling it depression, the dumps or the blues – Dürer's image continues to resonate. As does his implication that melancholy afflicts the most ambitious human efforts, that it is a historical and collective, not just a personal, fate.

The diagnosis that Dürer offers is rooted in medieval medicine. According to the notion of the "humours", melancholy was caused by an excess of black bile – hence the darkened face and the appropriate black ink. But Dürer offers something else not found in the old pseudo-science – a sense of a soul weighed down by its own intellect. In fact, the roots of his visionary masterpiece lie in Renaissance Italy, which he had visited and whose artists he knew well.

In 15th-century Florence, philosopher Marsilio Ficino claimed that intellectuals, gifted and introspective souls like himself, were especially prone to the malaise of melancholy. He proposed various magical remedies to lift it – often invoking the power of the planet and goddess Venus to bring joy to the joyless.

Dürer powerfully translates Ficino's idea of the sad intellectual into a heroic portrait of a great mind surrounded by unused tools of discovery and creation. Yet there is something more still. Dürer, we can guess from this print, knew the darkness of melancholy personally. He also knew it was the curse of one of the greatest artists of his time: his contemporary Leonardo da Vinci, whose art he had studied. Da Vinci notoriously suffered from a strange affliction that stopped him finishing his paintings. He fretted for years over a colossal statue of a horse that he never made, and started a battle painting that he left as a ruinous sketch on a wall in Florence. By 1514, he was a byword for mystifyingly irresolute genius.

Is Melencolia I an allegorical portrait of the creative paralysis of da Vinci, the paragon of Renaissance art who Dürer aspired to emulate – flaws included? If so, this would be the first of many Germanic attempts to understand Leonardo, including Goethe's famous essay on The Last Supper, and Sigmund Freud's book Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of his Childhood.

Freud diagnoses Leonardo in modern clinical language. But nothing he says, there or elsewhere, is any more insightful than Albrecht Dürer's majestic and enduring study of the troubled human mind.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2011 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds


March 02 2010

02mydafsoup-01

Democracy Now! 20100103 - Gary Greenberg: “Manufacturing Depression: The Secret History of a Modern Disease”

Greenberg-democracynow

Is depression manufactured? Two decades after the introduction of antidepressants, it’s become commonplace to assume that our sadness can be explained in terms of a disease called depression. The National Institute of Mental Health estimates that more than 14 million Americans suffer from major depression every year and more than three million suffer from minor depression. Some 30 million Americans take antidepressants at a cost of over $10 billion a year. Gary Greenberg argues that while depression can be debilitating, it has also been largely manufactured by doctors and drug companies as a medical condition with a biological cause that can be treated with prescription medication. [includes rush transcript]

December 19 2008

Older posts are this way If this message doesn't go away, click anywhere on the page to continue loading posts.
Could not load more posts
Maybe Soup is currently being updated? I'll try again automatically in a few seconds...
Just a second, loading more posts...
You've reached the end.

Don't be the product, buy the product!

Schweinderl