J M W Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire (1839)

J M W Turn­er is famed for his mas­tery of light and colour. For him, as for Mon­et, light was a mirac­u­lous phe­nom­e­non — it pro­duced colour, it sculpt­ed form and mood and it revealed the beau­ty of nature. He was also remark­ably pro­lif­ic, leav­ing some 550 oil paint­ings and 2,000 water­colours (as well as about 30,000 sketch­es), so you don’t have to go out of your way in this coun­try to find a Turn­er. He was a keen trav­eller, and I love the fact that he came to York­shire and paint­ed such famil­iar land­marks (to us) as Hardraw Force, Mal­ham Cove, and Hare­wood House. Indeed, the Tate holds six full sketch­books from Turner’s tour of York­shire in 1816.

How­ev­er, the sub­ject of this blog is set not in York­shire but on the Thames riv­er. This paint­ing by Turn­er, The Fight­ing Temeraire, on dis­play in the Nation­al Gallery, depicts the last jour­ney of the HMS Temeraire. The Temeraire had been a cel­e­brat­ed gun­ship that had fought valiant­ly in Lord Nel­son’s fleet at the bat­tle of Trafal­gar in 1805. Indeed, pri­or to that bat­tle, she had been mere­ly the Temeraire; it was after­wards she was hon­oured with the “Fight­ing” sobri­quet. Thir­ty three years lat­er, how­ev­er, decay­ing and well past her glo­ry days, she was towed up the Thames from Sheer­ness to be bro­ken up in a Rother­hithe ship­yard.

Turn­er’s paint­ing pays trib­ute to the Temeraire’s hero­ic past. The glo­ri­ous sun­set is a fan­fare of colour in her hon­our. Paint is laid on thick­ly to ren­der the sun’s rays strik­ing the clouds, whilst by con­trast, the ship’s rig­ging is metic­u­lous­ly paint­ed. It can be seen as a sym­bol of the end of an era, even the decline of Britain’s naval pow­er, with the sun set­ting on the days of ele­gant, tall-mast­ed war­ships. The Temeraire is already phan­tas­mal, behind the more sol­id form of the squat lit­tle steam tug that pulls her along to her fate.

Turn­er was in his six­ties when he paint­ed The Fight­ing Temeraire; per­haps this was behind his think­ing in terms of the end of an era. In any event, the paint­ing is an arrest­ing piece of work and, dis­tinct from Turn­er’s many strict­ly-land­scape paint­ings, it tells a sto­ry. I love it.

 

The HAL 9000 Scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

There’s been a lot of talk in the media recent­ly about Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence (AI). Face­book uses it for tar­get­ed adver­tis­ing, pho­to tag­ging, and news feeds. Microsoft and Apple use it to pow­er their dig­i­tal assis­tants, Cor­tana and Siri, and Google’s search engine has utilised AI from the begin­ning. There appears to be some­thing of a chase to cre­ate flex­i­ble, self-teach­ing AI that will mir­ror human learn­ing and appar­ent­ly trans­form our lives.

There have been some big-name doom-mon­gers on this sub­ject, how­ev­er. Elon Musk thinks AI is prob­a­bly humanity’s “biggest exis­ten­tial threat”. Stephen Hawk­ing fears that AI may “replace humans alto­geth­er”. Bill Gates agrees with both of them. Me, I’m not so sure; sure­ly you can always turn a machine off?…(on the oth­er hand, have you ever tried clos­ing Skype?)

This con­cept of computers/machines gone bad is a well-worn theme in sci­ence fic­tion, with the Ter­mi­na­tor series of films an obvi­ous exam­ple, but it was back in 1968, in Stan­ley Kubrik and Arthur C Clarke’s sem­i­nal 2001: A Space Odyssey, that we were intro­duced to our first elec­tron­ic wrong ‘un, HAL 9000. HAL (from Heuris­ti­cal­ly pro­grammed ALgorithm, appar­ent­ly, though some have con­jec­tured an eas­i­ly-decrypt­ed code ver­sion of IBM) is a sen­tient com­put­er con­trol­ling the sys­tems of the Dis­cov­ery One space­craft on its mis­sion to Jupiter.

HAL is ini­tial­ly regard­ed as anoth­er mem­ber of the crew, engag­ing genial­ly with its human col­leagues, play­ing chess with them and so on. How­ev­er, he begins to mal­func­tion in sub­tle ways. As the mal­func­tion­ing dete­ri­o­rates, the crew mem­bers dis­cuss the pos­si­bil­i­ty of dis­con­nect­ing HAL’s cog­ni­tive cir­cuits. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, HAL can read lips and dis­cerns their plan, and his pro­grammed direc­tives to pro­tect the mis­sion lead him to rea­son that he must kill the astro­nauts. In this clas­sic scene, crew mem­ber Dave Bow­man is out­side the main craft in a “pod” and is seek­ing re-entry, ask­ing HAL to open the pod bay doors. HAL (voiced chill­ing­ly by Dou­glas Rain) isn’t play­ing ball…