Orchids II

It's been a bumper year for orchids. The hot, dry spell in July-Aug stimulated flowering (I suspect it was more the light intensity rather than temperature that did the trick) and we're still reaping the results. Two other orchids that were induced was the SE Asian slipper orchid (Paphiopedilum, probably a hybrid) and the clamshell orchid.

Paphiopedilum

The Diocentrum flowered twice this year (only the fourth occasion in ten years).

A gorgeous flower spike in full bloom lasting for about two months

Spot the mutant six-petalled flower. It also has fused twin labella

Clamshell orchid (Encyclia cochleata)

Paradoxically, the only orchid that didn't flower was the Phalaenopsis which is reputedly the easiest to cultivate indoors.

The Real Dope

While I was being a bit facetious in the caption in my previous post, this is how a real Master realises the creative potential inherent in tessellation and division of space.

One of my personal favourites is Metamorphose II (below)

I like the way the picture evolves in incremental steps from panel to panel before returning to the beginning. Although I had been aware of both works for ages, it wasn't after a long, long time that I realised that this is a perfect visual counterpart to Bach's C Major prelude from The Well Tempered Clavier which starts off simply enough with an arpeggio based on the C-chord, evolves with a single point mutation from chord shape to chord shape before resolving back satisfactorily into C. I used to think that Douglas Hofstadter's yoking together of the troika in "Gödel, Escher and Bach" was a bit forced, but this made me change my mind somewhat.

Fart & Clit

I've decided to set up a running post on egregious examples of pointless and pretentious Art and Literature. It's kind of my own small version of Private Eye's Pseuds' Corner. Anyway I was prodded into this partly because of my earlier post, and on discovering a real-life example right under my nose. The area behind the institute where I work was the site of a disused prison which was demolished several months ago to make way for a new building to house the institute. The area has been lying idle for some months probably in anticipation for the real heavy digging next spring. Anyway, my colleagues and I were intrigued last week to see the workers constructing a steel-girder walkway cutting diagonally across the area. The installation (!, again) looked rather too flimsy to be an actual scaffold of some sort in relation to any kind of construction related activity and we were speculating that it may be a temporary pedestrian walkway in case the sidewalks were torn up or impeded to public access in the near future, or a stage for a free concert.

View from my office

However, according to a colleague, it is in fact a temporary art installation! (I haven't actually managed to come up with independent confirmation, however, I don't have any reason to doubt his veracity). Apparently there was a competition to instal (Aargh!) an artwork on the temporarily vacant lot and this was selected over the others (I'd love to see what the losing proposals must have looked like!) and cost around SFr 60,000 to erect (60,000 Francs that would have been more productively spent in filling potholes and effacing graffiti). Quite actually what this "work" signifies is unclear. From an aesthetic perspective it doesn't even begin to exist otherwise every bit of scaffolding should belong in a gallery, so it clearly must have some intent or message (contemporary artists are pretty verbose with their manifestos. Whatever happened to letting the art speak for itself?). So what exactly does it signify? The gullibility of art committees, the wastefulness of public funding, the Emperor's New Clothes?.....I confess to being totally baffled on this one.

Taken from the middle facing both ways

While we're on the theme of construction inspired art, I think the city council got off lightly. Carl Andre's pile of bricks must have probably cost the Tate a bomb.

Carl André, Equivalent VIII (don't you just love how the creative poverty is dressed up in a portentous title to acquire some gravitas)

An awe-struck group being enlightened on the creative possibilities inherent in tessellation and filling of Euclidean space

Heartbreaker

I just found out by chance that Robert Plant will be playing a concert in Basel next Saturday. It was sold out online so I rushed down to the nearest Ticketcorner booth downtown during my lunchbreak but alas, twas not to be. I saw Page and Plant in London in 1995 but this time 'round, it looks like I won't get to hear Plant croon "Squeeze my lemon baby, 'till the juice runs down my leg".

Robert Plant, proud owner of some ripe lemons

Qualia

This is a concept that has always intrigued me. I think it first occurred to me when I was about 14-15 and was delighted to discover later a fuller exposition in William Poundstone's excellent "Labyrinths of Reason". A concise description of qualia is basically our raw subjective experience of the external world and the impossibility of actually describing this to a second party. I especially like Daniel Dennett's delineation of properties associated with the concept:

1. ineffable; that is, they cannot be communicated, or apprehended by

any other means than direct experience.

2. intrinsic; that is, they are non-relational properties, which do not

change depending on the experience's relation to other things.

3. private; that is, all interpersonal comparisons of qualia are

systematically impossible.

4. directly or immediately apprehensible in consciousness; that is, to experience a quale is to

know one

experiences a quale,

and to know all there is to know about that quale.

A simple example is the inverted spectrum argument (this was actually the thought that struck me in my teens) that was first described by John Locke (I always have a mix of chagrin and pride when I've been anticipated, on the one hand it's a bit deflating but at the same time rather flattering to know that greater minds then yours have had the exact same ideas). This is is a thought experiment which states that, if you were to wake up one morning and all the colours in your visual spectrum were swapped, (i.e. red-to-green and vice versa, yellow-to-blue and v.v.), it would be impossible for you to objectively prove this to an outsider. Theres some quibbling that in the case of a black-to-white inversion or vice versa, this could perhaps be independently verifiable but these not being strictly colours but rather the absence/presence of light (yeah, yeah, gross simplification), its still a valid argument that there is just no way possible in which one could

convey what one experiences by the "blueness" of a blue object and whether or not to someone else that "blue" which we visualise mentally is inverted and experienced as our "red".

“Einstein: The same uncertainty will always be there about everything fundamental in our experience, in our reaction to art, whether in Europe or in Asia. Even the red flower I see before me on your table may not be the same to you and me.”

from a conversation between Einstein and Rabindranath Tagore

This leads to the inescapable conclusion that in a sense we are all prisoners inside our skulls, never to make contact with fellow captives and that in the most fundamental way conceivable, we live out our lives terrifyingly alone.

And yet, and yet....while this may be true for the bedrock experiential datum of our existence, our consciousness takes these raw inputs, these tiny incommunicable building-blocks and out of these flowers all of our art, music and poetry, giving expression to our deepest fears, hopes and dreams. While our personal notion

s of something as simple as "red" are incommensurable, here I am jumping into your head as a little voice behind these words (hi!). This I find almost miraculous, that something (everything, really in terms of human culture) should come from almost nothing.

Tagore and Einstein. Two moustaches, two Nobel prizes. Hmmm, think I'll hang up my razor for a while. (Incidentally, if you disregard the facial hair, don't they look incredibly alike?)

Custard pie?

My wife, who is an artistic and culinary genius, experimented over the weekend in making pulut tekan, a glutinous rice based pudding from the tradition of Malay/Nyonya/Peranakan cuisine (I can't really do justice to this cuisine in a few sentences, if you're interested look here.) These cakes (puddings really) are served in bite sized cubes. What was interesting about this particular kuih is the unusual colouring.

The initial block after steaming with blue marbling running through it.

The colour is completely natural and is infused from the petals of a species of sweet-pea called bunga telang. Incidentally there is also a kuih called seri muka that is bright green due to the pandanus extract used for flavouring. I've contemplated cajoling the wife into making a blue-green kuih combo and bringing it in to work to terrify all my Swiss colleagues!

Cut-up into bite size cubes. She used a Teflon coated ceramic knife which prevented sticking (from the glutinous rice) giving nice, clean edges.

So whither the custard pie in the blog title, I hear you ask, gentle reader? Well the botanical name of bunga telang, the source of the blue dye, is Clitoria due to a certain, ahem, anatomical resemblance.

Having seen actual flowers in the.....errr.....flesh I can vouch for the similarity

But, I hear you ask again gentle reader, whither the custard pie in the title? Well, I'm getting to it. The unexpected juxtaposition of a sweet dessert with pudenda brought to mind the immortal words of Robert Plant

Your custard pie, yeah, sweet and nice

When you cut it, mama, save me a slice
Your custard pie, I declare, it's sweet and nice
I like your custard pie
When you cut it, mama... mama, please save me a slice.

I'd sure like a piece of your custard pie
I'd sure like a piece of your custard pie
I'd sure like a piece of your custard pie
I'd sure like a piece of your custard pie

And no, I assure you it isn't petit fours that he was singing about.

Gratuitous image of Robot Planet, co-writer of the rock classic "Hairway to Steven"

Minority conservative.....

......is an oxymoron? For a long time (well, the last 2-3 years) I find the most stimulating blogs and fora to be those leaning towards the right wing of the political divide. Current favourites are Taki's magazine , Steve Sailer's blog and the incomparable John Derbyshire (who has also authored two excellent pop-math books). I've been a fan of Takis' ever since my time at Oxford when I discovered his column in the Sunday Times and discovered the others more or less at random. What I find most appealing about these sites is their utter lack of and contempt of political correctness which comes as a welcome breath of fresh air compared to the mainstream media. I really hate the way that PC (and self-proclaimed racial champions i.e. professional grievance-mongers) has retarded progress on the study of racial characteristics. Clearly there are differences in abilities between different racial groups in athleticism, intelligence, character etc. but most liberals even try to deny that there is any such thing as a genetic basis to racial groupings despite the manifest evidence of ones senses. I feel that the few scientists that try to carve a niche out in this field, despite the overwhelming disapproval of the liberal brigade and academic establishment (same thing really:-)), deserve commendation as being true scientific martyrs of our time. So if I had to pitch my flag it would be firmly in the HBD, nature-predominating-over-nurture-in-intelligence camp of the debate.

On the political side of the question, I am left-wing in being anti-war, suspicious of the motives behind seemingly benign western intentions towards the developing world, in favour of an independent Palestinian homeland, pro-choice and generally anti-American (the US government, I should qualify. I never have any beef with most individuals whatever their race or nationality). All of which sounds disturbingly wooly and liberal.

But on the other hand, I back the death penalty for certain crimes (but only when guilt is overwhelmingly certain), support gay marriage but not the right to adopt children (childrens' rights trumps that of adults making lifestyle choices, and I'm sorry, but a gay partnership is not the societal default - read normal - of any family unit in any culture in the entire history of the human race), that most feminists and minorities are hyper-sensitive and complain too damn much, think that global warming is a con based on bad science, Muslims need to be monitored (but only for the present given the current Mid-East situation, which to be fair is not entirely their fault), that one should think long and hard before deferring to and ceding public space to Islamic religious scruples (I was raised for the first quarter century of my life in an Islamic country, believe me, you will be glad for doing so). All of which would make me a red-neck if my skin wasn't so brown ;-)

I hang my head in shame, after it's a well known liberal chestnut that only white-males can be racist, antediluvian, reactionaries.

Given the present situation where even a scientist as eminent as Jim Watson could be steam-rollered for espousing a view that was "hurtful" to certain groups (none of his detractors actually tried to refute his claims as far as I am aware, just mentioning the "hurt" was enough to place his statements beyond the pale), it does seem too much to ask for freedom in conducting research into contentious fields. The problem is we all pay the price whenever free inquiry is curtailed.