“These things, therefore, are memories altered by time, by the tricks that your mind can play on your memories; a muddled interpretation made richer and more interesting by the unintentional combining of personal experience and that which you have been subsequently told.”
David Bomberg – The Mud Bath, 1913
Simon Fujiwara – The Mirror Stage (this image 2009, Basel, seen at Tate St Ives 2012)
Watch from 7:38 for a real dose of wisdom.
Part 3 of 3 of a 1959 interview that Bertrand Russell gave to the BBC. Amazing stuff.
I’ve always been intrigued by the notion of the being between places, the non-place, the potential for a period of time that is held almost in suspension by being in transit.
I began commuting 6 months ago, with each journey originally being an hour and a half each way; bus, train and tube carried me to my destination. The bus was a frustration and the tube a sweaty hassle, but the train became a 40 minute haven of solitude.
Things have changed since, and I now find myself with a bi-weekly commute of three hours (train, tube, train) with a more regular one hour journey (bus/car, train, train) to get to my office. Other than the times when the train is far too crowded, these periods on trains have become that familiar place of solitude again.
This experience of solitude whilst in transit produces some interesting opportunities. I am currently sat on the 17:03 Chiltern Rail service from Aylesbury to London Marylebone, which to my pleasant surprise is made of newer cars, those with bigger seats and plentiful tables. I am sat alone. The sun is flickering through the trees we pass, sitting above the fields it will soon meet as it falls and the light diminishes. There are newborn lambs in some of the fields, a glimpse of vibrant yellow daffodils at points. I’m listening to some screwed r’n'b. Maybe that doesn’t quite fit with the experience, but I see no reason why this can’t be a positive.
This experience is not new, whilst studying I often sat through two hour train journeys. Some of the most memorable featured a discernible point where snow either began or ended, as if the hills were dusted. I had some of my best ideas on these journeys, but few ever made it through the door and onto the platform.
I like the paradox of having ideas in a situation where you can do little with them. They must somehow be recorded, saved, suspended until you are in the right environment to develop them. That is not to say, though, that things cannot be written, read or drawn.
I rediscovered reading on the train, subsequently flying through pages of distopian fiction. I have drawn, and I have begun several pieces of writing that have never (quite) been finished.
The reasons form not finishing writing, or for following through ideas are perhaps what interest me the most. Here is a defined period of time within which you are uninterrupted by distractions (other than, of course, the view from the window, watching other passengers or intermittent telephone calls). It is a closed space, not quite replicable.
And this might just be the key. At this point it might be customary to quote Baudrillard or Baudelaire or the other guy who wrote ‘The Poetics of Space’ (if it’s not one of those two), but I’m on a train, and I can’t look any up. I’ve just got what I’ve got; sketchbook, pen, laptop. The difficulty is remembering the idea (even if you have written it down comprehensively, drawn a spider diagram, some sketches, drafted a note…) in the same way, or being able to embrace it in a way that is workable.
I am struggling to not use the phrase ‘train of thought’, but it is, perhaps unfortunately, apt. This metal tube is a surrogate studio, if you like, within which I am able to think and create ideas for possibilities that might not other wise have happened. I shall endeavour to keep a list of these ‘trains of thought’ and see what develops. I shall otherwise continue to read (often a free paper, but books too [I have just finished one about the social history of beer, which was rather interesting]), draw, play mobile-phone based games, snooze, daydream and stare out of the window.
For now though, this train is entering the station. I promise I shall upload this quite possibly inane and insensible text to my website when I return. But then you know I did that, didn’t you.
You find yourself in a teenagers bedroom, looking through cupboards and drawers then queuing to get into the toilet to read what is on the walls. You find ultra-violet lights, t-shirts, beer mats, press cuttings, pictures of musicians, photos of him with his mates, photos of residential streets, stereoscope viewers hung under a skylight and an anthology of graffiti from the gents’ toilet in the British Museum.
You may well find everything you need to know about Deller in this room; all of the themes which arise in the rest of the exhibition are here in some small form. Perhaps the most prevalent is that of wanting to find ways of seeing things, to shift perspective on life, people, situations, history, tradition, identity, music………..
A full sized replica of a tea room, a steel band playing Joy Division and a Colliery Band playing Acid House, paintings and drawings by fans of the Manic Street Preachers, photographs of America, unrealised projects, a car destroyed in a Baghdad bombing, banners from processions, exhibition posters, bats, a Welsh wrestler and a re-enactment of a miners riot.
Ok, so most of Deller’s work is made whilst espousing the gallery context, and so what we see is documentation, missing out on the wow factor of stumbling upon of being involved in his work as it is intended. This might afford us an intriguing perspective however, of overseeing his output, of being able to draw lines between things that might not be apparent when in the middle of any one event. There is though that niggling thought of ‘I wish I was there’, but that’s the same for most things, right? I mean, there’s lots of things that have happened which I have wished I was there for, a lot of them either too long ago or too far away, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate them in some way, or their significance, or that they can’t have significance for me. Does it?
The Battle of Orgreave, probably Deller’s best known work, captures a little something of this. His documentary of the momentous re-enactment of the 1984 clash between miners and Police is in a way documentation of documentation. The film is accompanied by a room of articles relating to it, with a timeline of events stretching around the wall.
The room with the shell of the car suggests it is intended to spark conversation, but has more of a reverent atmosphere than any other. There is a consideration of death here, something not seen in the other works. The vehicle, sat on it’s low plinth is close to being a monument rather than ephemera, something only otherwise hinted at in Deller’s unrealised projects. He proposed that the car be placed on the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square with the proposal being rejected alongside another featuring a lifesized model of Dr. David Kelly sat on it’s edge.
Deller’s work is unconventional. His freedom to make artwork on his own terms, equally influenced by Warhol and unbounded by a lack of art-school education, that was well described in the brilliant Culture Show special about his work is clear to see. His work is entertaining and you might even learn something. Best of all for me, it is played on a level that means it can be universally enjoyed through it’s subjects, spectacle or substance (I read one writer who said ‘I challenge anyone who has ever had a record collection to not enjoy the show’).
Above the Deller show is a David Shrigley show. Your ticket gets you into both exhibitions. Shrigley is well known for being accessible and sat on the fringes of art as well; it’s almost certain everyone has at least considered buying one of his greetings cards at some point. I’ve decided not to write at length about the show, but to give you a top 5 countdown of highlights:
5 – A biscuit nailed to the wall
4 – Finding the Deller ticket gets you into the show
3 – A rather large cup of tea
2 – A taxidermied rat
1 – Seeing Richard from Pointless (he’s much taller than you think).
So I may be being a bit disingenuous. I realise Shrigley is a surrealist and that his work is meant to make you think about things a bit, but I just get a bit bored of it sometimes. It works as a short sharp aside, but a whole show is a bit much for me. Sorry.
So back to Deller. The show is called ‘Joy in People’. Joy in all their idiosyncrasies and oddities, joy in their struggles, joy in their survival, joy in humanity. This show will make you smile, perhaps laugh, perhaps cry. You might even learn something. I did.
Stanley Kubrick in Today’s Observer, first published December 1960.
Rodchenko – 1918 Composition
Naum Gabo – Construction: Circle With a Collar, 1933
Been looking at theatre signs. I want the lights of Vegas…
Here’s a Flickr slideshow of a group called ‘great signs’. Some nice images in there.
I’ve been trying to write a new blog post here for a while now, thinking about the Superbowl, the F.A. Cup, Egypt, a book I’ve just finished reading called ‘Room’ (which I heartily recommend) and a few shows I’ve seen, but nothing has quite seemed to cut it. I think there has been a slight loss in confidence in what I have to say and in my potential as an artist and a writer as well as a confusion around a new-found love of design; particularly t-shirts and typography drawn partly through my day job.
Then today I’ve spent some time reading this blog post on Creative Nottingham by Origamibiro. He talks about music and sound, referencing Schaefer and the way our ears and brains find similarities in sound, followed by a clip of John Cage defining music as well as referencing projects he is working on.
This has made me think in two ways. I remember when I was the guest blogger on Creative Nottingham, and I managed to write only two posts in the two weeks that this went on for, far less than I wanted to. Partly through a block and partly through a lack of feeling like I had something to say. What I did write about was my turning 28, and how this meant that I would never be able to become part of the ’27 Club’, something that has led to a fascination with producing a list of people I would like to be.
I should have done something with this list by now, but have never quite had the inclination. It has concerned me that I might have lost all inclination to make, or at least to start to make. Yes, this is partly down to being unsure of what to do; there seem to be so many things I should do (make work, read theory, see shows, go to the gym, go to ASDA, watch difficult films, read for pleasure, make music, listen to music, cook, clean, spend time with friends, go see my family…..) that I end up paralysed and doing none of them in favour of watching mind-numbing TV.
Which brings me to the other part of this blog post that made me think. There is a part where Origamibiro talks about how he has been doing what he does for 15 years. 15 years. This implies drive, dedication and passion, things I often have in short bursts but fail to maintain. In some ways it’s about achieving your dream, of which I have many (possibly too many), but this happens through hard work and stick-ability, although success is not guaranteed. Depending on how you measure success, that is.
‘You’ve got big dreams? You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying – in sweat!’I have been considering two words of late – Fame and Acclaim. Fame seems to be what my gut instinct is for – I want to be known, celebrated, lauded, centre of attention – and when I’m not I find it difficult. Acclaim is what my head knows I should desire – that is positive feedback from peers, respect and admiration for your work and your achievements – but probably deep down fear I will probably never attain. Culture tells us we should desire fame, but in reality those whose work really stands the test of time achieve acclaim, often without having desired it.
Something I have realised is that I need to stop feeling weighed down by theory and history, or rather my lack of knowledge and understanding of it. A little while ago I had an idea that seemed like a winner, if a little risky. I discussed it with a friend who told me I needed to think about it from every angle critically, then it would be brilliant. It went no further. I suppose I think that this is what proper artists do, when what I really want to do is hurl paint at a canvas and think about it later. I love well conceived and executed work, but lack the patience to produce it, often because I seem to loose the spark quickly. I wish I had a better ability to read, something which I fear inhibits my learning, and as such the books on Heidegger, Friedrich, Byron et al sit unopened on my desk in what is a growing ‘must read or else you’re not a proper artist’ pile.
That’s why I love the video of John Cage talking on Origamibiro’s blog post. It’s simple and easy to perceive. I should spend more time with this sot of thing. It also makes me what to play with sound. I do mean play. I saw Susan Hiller at Tate Britain last weekend, and her ‘Magic Lantern’ brought back memories of how I used to play with light and colour. I think I never felt like I could be good with it because I started to look at theories whilst in my first year, but wonder if actually this is what I need to do.
Play.
