Comparisons: three
The Doppler effect changes colour perception; here it's word perception
Number one: end and beginning
The value of a statesperson is never so high as after they cease to be a statesperson. The soundbites and quotes of prime ministers, presidents and ministers of the Crown are, one would gather, during the course of their period of tenure in office, but lies, machinations and distortions of truth. Since 2016, somebody has been counting the number of “lies” (whatever happened to “economy with the truth”?) emitted from the mouth of Donald Trump. The tally stands at 91,000. (“Reputation” was invented as a means to circumvent the need for such precision – assuming the figure’s precise; and the defamation courts were invented as a means to destroy reputations.)
Politics is a strange career path, one of the few, I reckon, in which career termination is by vote of the shareholders in general meeting. In any company, it’d be by letter of resignation, a golden handshake, champagne corks and a bonus. And perhaps politics ain’t that different to a company in some respects. Tony Blair thinks that Sanna Marin, who for four years held the reins of government in Finland and steered it into the NATO alliance, is “bold and practical”, and who can disagree with that? Mr Blair is adept at saying things that no one can disagree with, but which leave one wondering why he bothered.
I could, if I wished to, call her use of social media insouciant, or was it carefree? Unknowing, unwitting, uninformed? Or was it daring, devil-may-care, what’s mine is mine: only blood sweat and tears may Finland demand of me!? The panoply of adjectival expression was made – precisely – to cater to the panoply of human opinion. So why does the mot juste sometimes so consummately elude us?
A friend who visited last weekend from Holland asked me, “How do you know for sure that, when I say something is green and you say it is also green, that we both in fact see the same colour?” To questions such as these, I generally have a ready pile of stock answers, because seeing colours is not unlike attributing a phenomenon to spirituality. A sort-of religious Doppler effect. But, here, I hesitated: “Well, our eyes are manifestly built on the same model, otherwise they couldn’t do surgery based on a tested method. Colour is based on light-wave frequency. So, if my eye says to me that something is green, it’s reasonable that your eye will, even if you don’t know the word green” (groen in his case).
It becomes more questionable when the word is not green but turquoise. Taupe. Oatmeal. Magnolia. Pacific sunset. And, of course, it makes a big difference whether you’re in fluorescent light or daylight. (Just pop to the door to check what this interior paint looks like in daylight.) But, even with all this scientific theory to back us up, no, I cannot be certain that what I call green is seen by you as the same colour, though there’s rarely a dispute. With taupe and Pacific sunset, there’s more room for dispute.
Image: the bold, practical and former Finnish prime minister Sanna Marin (By Rami Kurth, valtioneuvoston kanslia - FinnishGovernment - https://www.flickr.com/photos/finnishgovernment/52766857233/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=129924804)
Colour names, therefore, are not scientifically precise. They’re a general direction; and whether a colour is suitable or not for a given situation is a decision to be made by him or her to whom it is important at the time at which it becomes important. If you want to paint a room green, there are as many greens with which to do it as there are things you could put in the room.
And so it is with words like bold and practical. Mr Blair knows that his organisation is unlikely ever to apply for NATO membership, so Ms Marin’s undoubted track record in getting a state to be a member of NATO is unquestionable, but not highly relevant in the detail. I’m not sure what challenges Ms Marin had, even in that little feat, but it struck me that there wasn’t all that much opposition, if any, and Finland wasn’t exactly granting visas to persons regarded by an established NATO member as terrorists. On that score, Sweden’s leader was bolder, and less practical. So, I reckon it’s something other than the NATO journey that has attracted Mr Blair to her, the view of which has not been occluded by photographs taken at parties where, it is said, substances were consumed. Tsk. Perchance, they did but enhance his view of Ms Marin?
Whatever else, the end to a political career is not the end, but a beginning, perhaps even the beginning that was aimed at when the political career was begun. I.e. not being in politics. And, in that regard if no other, it’s different to life in the real world. Or is that the same as?
Number two: secret and in camera.
Image: Wang Jangblin and Huang Xueqin (thanks to Radio Free Asia)
In camera is a funny little phrase from the courts. Courts on the whole, not everywhere but generally, do not allow cameras. Which is why newspapers and the like still employ court artists. When Eugène Delacroix painted his classic revolutionary statement Liberté guidant le people (Liberty leading the people), how much of what we see on that canvas was there as he applied the paint to it? Very little, I’d hazard: “Could you drop the flowing tissue just a tad, Ethel, I’d like to get a good decko of that nipple. And Tony, lift your musket, boy!” I’ve seen live shows on stage of a troupe of actors who recreate great paintings in tableau form, and it’s wonderful. But that’s not how they’re painted
Image: Liberty by ED. Ethel has burned her under garments and Tony has his musket up.
So, back to the point, court artists generally get a more leisurely sitting in which to observe and commit to paper the view they have of the accused. But not when proceedings are held in camera, which doesn’t mean there is a camera instead. Camera is Latin for room, and, as with any Latin tag used by the law, that does absolutely nothing to explain what it means. In camera means in the room. And, by extension, no one is allowed in the room who is outside the room. Or, less prosaically, everyone who’s not the accused, his counsel, the prosecution, the bench, the court officers and, from time to time, a witness: get out. The door is barred and all bugging equipment is turned off. Because the case is to be heard and no one else is to know what happens.
There are parts of in camera proceedings that are known, however. We know who the accused is, or at least the parties do. And we know that there are proceedings, and where. So in camera is not a kangaroo court, it is proper justice, in which confidentiality happens to be an overriding factor, such as where a witness is vulnerable in terms of their safety, or the offence involves obscene publications.
And then we have the term secret. So, test time: what are secret proceedings? Anyone?
The Guardian has reported on some secret proceedings, in China, and they are concerning. Sorry, worrying. They concern activists, who have been held, it seems, for two years and who are now going on secret trial. In Guangzhou. The accused’s names are Huang and Wang. Diplomatic representatives from nations such as the US were not permitted to enter the court building for the start of the procedure. The newspaper does not relate the charges. But they seem to stem from networking activity the two did during the period of pandemic isolation. The UK has referred to them as “emerging leaders” and that’s a label that inspires me to root for the two; and it may be a label that has put them on trial, for emerging leaders in China are not especially welcomed unless hand-picked. Amnesty International and Reporters Without Borders are campaigning for the release of the accused.
In conclusion, everyone knows about this trial who wants to know about it. Everyone has a good idea what the charges are, even if we haven’t seen the charge sheet. We know where it is and that it is ongoing. We know the accused’s names and at least one of their counsel’s. So, this trial is anything but secret. Aside, that is, from what actually goes on in the court room. And that is in camera.
But, practically speaking (where is Sanna Marin when you need her?) that difference between secret and in camera depends on whether you’re a technical lawyer or appalled at something happening 9,242 kilometres away. What you might call a political Doppler effect.
Number three: investor and gambler.
Image: Nathan Mayer Rothschild (By Moritz Daniel Oppenheim (1800-1882) - Hoeber - https://hoebers.wordpress.com/2018/07/17/portraitist-to-the-rothschilds-moritz-daniel-oppenheim-1800-1882-part-i/#jp-carousel-2310 / From the reference book and catalogue raisonné , Moritz Daniel Oppenheim, Die Entdeckung des jüdischen Selbstbewußtseins in der Kunst [“The Discovery of Jewish Self-Awareness in Art”], edited by Georg Heuberger and Anton Merk, Jüdisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, 1999., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=131391632)
We can express this one algebraically, as
I = G + d2,
where I = investor, G = gambler and d = one of the d’s in due diligence, whereby, of course, the answer can be either positive or negative.
Rothschild was a canny investor, a right proper banker he was, and he was understandably concerned when he read, on the eve of Waterloo, that the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball was being held in a dusty old coachworks on which St John’s hospital would later be constructed. Hardly the place to bid a fond farewell to the great warriors of England before they fall to the mighty sword of the ulcerous Emperor of France?
The great thing about the Rothschild family is sifting the truth out of the fiction surrounding the family’s humungous and illustrious past and present. And, if I think I know them, future.
They were no doubt unaware of where that Duchess’s ball was being held (in the first premises of automotive importers D’Ieteren). Of the battle itself, they were aware. But, the story that, fearing alliance defeat, Nathan Mayer Rothschild sold all his sterling holdings, only later to buy them back at rock-bottom price because, unlike the British government’s, his carrier pigeons were faster, is cobblers. They were faster and they did return with news of the German, sorry, British victory (but ably, of course, assisted by Field Marshal Blücher and his clever lead-’em-a-merry-dance tactics of ‘catch me if you can’ with General Grouchy of France after the Battle of Quatre Bras), but he took that straight to the government, and the sterling assets story is a fabrication by Frederic Morton né Fritz Mandelbaum (for want, probably, of anything backed by solid evidence to say about Nathan Mayer Rothschild at all).
The “sold them back with huge profits” story belongs to the post-war period, and that was no more luck than it was acumen. Rothschild calculated that it would take two years for the post-war excitement to calm down, and that government borrowing would as good as cease, war no longer being in the offing. He was right. The bonds he bought at top dollar in 1815 first plummeted for two years and then blipped by 40% in 1817, Rothschild sold, and his sheer leverage landed him a fortune:
I = G + crystal ball.
It’s 2019. Nowhere in particular. Well, yes, somewhere in particular, because where Justin Bieber is, is always a little particular, especially if Madonna and Paris, Hilton (even Paris, Texas for all I know) aren’t far behind. The latter (except the city of Paris, Texas) are (2023) litigants complaining they were callously duped into parting with vast sums of very fungible bank notes for nothing in particular other than putative evidence of something that doesn’t exist other than digitally and has an inherent value of zilch: art, and in particular non-fungible tokens, or NFTs.
Whilst I and the rest of the sane world outside care institutions for the mentally ill-at-ease looked on in gobsmacked wonderment at the extremely large amounts of money being paid for text messages and an uninterested primate, we all had a vague feeling that something was going on that we hadn’t quite twigged. A bit like knowing where the queen is in a three-card monte, except we don’t, but at least we know more than the guy who handed over five bucks. It’s a case of not knowing being better than knowing nothing at all. Ha, sucker.
Because these particular investments proved, or have proved (let’s use the correct tense here) to be worth nothing. Often, nothing means very little or couldn’t put it in your eye or minuscule, barely worth stooping to pick up, bank notes floating in Hamburg harbour, that sort of thing. But, no, here it means nothing. Well, something, which is nothing:
I = 0,
where I is investor and = is equals and 0 is nothing. (And “TL”, sorry, I’ll pop it in, shall I?
I = 0 + TL.
TL means “tax loss”.) Since 0 is always 0, we can remove it and so we end up with
I = TL.
There you have it, what more could you want? The perfect investment, because we have removed G from the equation altogether. No G, no “gee, whizz.” And just where is the TL to be redeemed? Well, everyone has a few mill of yacht expenses they want balanced off, don’t they?
At this juncture, I must return to the land of Morton and its almond trees, and speculate, just a tad, hopefully on the basis of a little knowledge that doesn’t transpire to be a dangerous thing, like a firework or something. Tell you what, let’s ask an expert. Ah, here’s one!
What is the value of art? Well, art is an expression in material form, writing, imagery, installation, words, like poetry or a novel, of intangible emotions and feelings that well up within the artist, the creator, and pour out of their fingertips and take miraculous form as … as … art.
And, what is that worth? As an encapsulation of intangible emotions in a tangible framework, it is worth the price of the tangible framework, plus a mark-up. And VAT, of course.
But what about the emotion? Emotion is something for which parliament has not provided a schedular return. There are no historic rates of emotional value, though we know the baroque period was very refulgent and the Victorians liked funerals a lot. In tax, the emotion generally comes after you get the assessment. Till then, we speak of “fiscal wishful thinking.” A sort of taxonometric Doppler effect.
So, how come Van Goghs sell for millions? It’s fixed.
Who by? Well, without naming names, Christies and Phillips and other auctioneers basically, anyone who bangs a gavel.
Are they criminals? No. But, if you ask people what value is, they’ll say it’s what anyone is prepared to pay for something. The problem in the art world is that a lot of people know about art, technique, and subject matter, and periods, and styles, but they know bugger-all about market value because they don’t know necessarily what people are prepared to pay for a work of art. They need a hint. So the art world gives it to them. Hints.
When Antiques Roadshow gives a valuation for insurance purposes to the members of the public who bring their artefacts in, they are not telling you what the object’s value is, they are guessing what a bidder would be likely to pay for the item at auction. Always that little phrase added on at the end: experts know nothing about value, but they study in great detail what people pay. With certified (or hallmarked) gold and silver, you at least have the market rate for the molten metal. But with William Makepeace Thackeray’s favourite mahogany walking stick, it’s a bit of wood, and you can get bits of wood for ten euros. But not shaped as a walking stick; and not Thackeray’s. That makes it special, and what people pay is the difference: P = V + What it is + prov: price equals value + form + provenance.
So, what do auction houses do? Not just them, but players in the market as a whole. Look, you can’t be a dauber: you must have some kind of talent to begin with. But a young budding artist is scouted by someone who knows their art from their elbow, and sponsored. Big commissions, vernisages, magazine features and then, one day, good grief! A painting of theirs is sold for an outlandish sum, to an anonymous bidder in Nantucket, or the Far East, or Basingstoke, wherever. That gets them noticed and people start to talk about this new-found talent. The bidder in Nantucket is, of course, none other than the sponsor, who has meanwhile accumulated a back catalogue of fairly decent artworks for $500 each. This sale, however, boosts their value to nearer 5,000 or even 50,000, because now people know who’s good and what he’s worth. The value of a painting is essentially the cost of the paint, canvas and, if it has one, frame, perhaps also the time taken to paint it at a nominal rate. But paintings go for millions because bidders are willing to pay real money for these artworks, but their price is stoked to boiling point by “crafted” transactions. Not fraudulent as such, but dishonest. If you like, it’s an artistic Doppler effect. The principal victim, if there is one, is the artist. Because they know they’re not worth these prices, and can say nothing.
Is that what happened with NFTs? I think so. Someone tried to artificially create and hype a market for an asset that was basically nothing. As King Lear points out: nothing can come from nothing and, in this case, nothing did. Are the tax losses deductible? The taxpayers will see whether they are or not. But the loss is then borne by society at large. Call it stupidity, speculation, gambling or investment acumen, whatever: it’s compensated with a pooling of loss. Just like insurance. The losses being claimed by Mr Bieber et al. are justified, though: they may well have had to pay gains tax had these investments been borne out, so, why shouldn’t they claim the loss now the investment is a dud? It could have been an Edsel, it could’ve been a treasure trove. It turned out to be the Edsel. If its gain had been taxed in a good year, its loss must be allowable in a bad one.
Thank me. I’m welcome.