So why is
phonetics not spelt foneticaly? I got to pondering this weighty matter during
the month. Ah, the inconsistencies of the English language, any language almost
(perhaps not Esperanto). But I will swiftly move on to things artistic –
A
portrait of the artist as a middle-aged activist
Middle
aged, yes, I am. Political activist? For a long time. Artist? More than half a
dozen years ago I would have said ‘no’, I’m not an artist, that I did have some
artistic pursuits they were insufficiently developed for me to call myself an
artist. And then I took up bog oak/wood carving as a hobby through an evening
class or workshop [ah, I was wondering how long it would be before the wood
carving got another outing – Ed], and over the period since then my
perception has changed. This piece explores that change, and also the way in
which I believe everyone is an ‘artist’, or has artistic capabilities which
they can utilise in a meaningful way – sometimes we are not aware of
these capabilities but we all have them. My thoughts have been set off by
Nonviolent News’ coverage of art and peace over the last months in Readings in
Nonviolence.
On a
weekend visit there, I went to a gallery in London not long after I took up bog
wood carving to see an exhibition of Aztec art (which was wonderful). Browsing
in the bookshop afterwards, searching for a photo of an eagle done in relief in
wood, I got talking to an English man who, it turned out, had been at a top
fine art college there, Slade. When he asked me, “And do you work in any medium
yourself?”, I was able to proudly proclaim I was a bog oak carver. That was
possibly the first time I had publicly ‘come out’ as an artist.
How do I define
‘art’? I suppose something like the innovative use of culture in creating,
ordering (as in arranging) or understanding, the production of artefacts (and I
deliberately haven’t looked up a dictionary definition).
When
I left school I would have said I was profoundly in- or un-artistic; not
musical, not able to draw for nuts, or even draw nuts. I had stopped doing art
in school by 13 but was left in no doubt at a much younger age that I was not
of an artistic bent. Maybe it was the lack of imagination of my teachers, the
way I experienced my art education, or lack of it, or maybe I was a slow
starter. I was not artistic – that was it. Yes, there was some capability
within the family, including a grandmother who was a dab hand with a fine paint
brush, but, no, I had not inherited these skills.
Over the
years I developed some skills which might be thought of as artistically-related
but which did not persuade me I was an artist. Photography was something which
I utilised both for recording purposes and to a lesser extent creatively
– a shape that appealed to me, a bare tree, the colour on its bark in the
rain. I took care in composing photos, trying to get an uncentred balance. My
involvement in small magazines and the like, and more general peace work, had
me often laying out pages for printing, the old way for offset litho using
typed columns and graphics which were pasted down on a page. I enjoyed
creativity, when I could use it, in balancing a printed page with type, headings,
cartoons and other graphics.
I also
started doing cards, and sometimes pictures, with pressed flowers. As a
birthday present from my partner I received a weekend course on making pressed
flower pictures; the most important part of this for me was learning to do
marbling of paper with ink which added immeasurably to the effect, building a
depth and richness which complemented the beauty of the shapes and colours of
natural leaves and flowers. I was still not an ‘artist’ however. My musical
appreciation also grew in relation to the fields of music which I most enjoyed.
I’m not
sure what it was that finally persuaded me, yes, I am an artist. That incident
at the Aztec art exhibition was retold widely but largely humorously (the craft
worker standing up to the fine artist kind of thing) and I still did not think
of myself in the generic title of ‘artist’. I think it was just a matter of
reaching a tipping point, of thinking, how can I say I have developed these
artistic skills but not see myself or call myself, generically, an ‘artist’?
Was this because of the rarefied portrayal of art and of artists? That it took
a very special person to be an ‘artist’? That I did not want to boast of what I
was not, or what I was only in part or poorly?
But while
it took me a long time to decide, yes, I am indeed an artist, afterwards I also
reassessed my concept of who is an artist and who has artistic capabilities.
Everyone. If I could move from considering myself profoundly non-artistic to
artist-ry, so could anyone. And labelling people as not being artistic is a
form of control, a way in which elites are created and defined in our society,
related to the class nature of society but not wholly defined by that. Of
course there are different kinds of artistry, and people who are good or
indifferent at what they do (Michelangelo I am not) but that is life. However
telling people they cannot be creative and artistic – that is negative
control of the worst sort. And yet all people can be creative and produce beautiful
materials – sometimes in the worst possible situations – as recent
discussion of the production of arpilleras in the pages of Nonviolent News
shows. Arpilleras are an excellent example of how art has been used in the
human struggle for dignity. I would also argue that Anne Frank was not just
writing a diary but being artistic and creative in how she did it.
In bog wood
carving, as in sculpture more generally but especially in working with raw
materials where there is already a ‘shape’, the task can be to ‘release’ what
is already there. That animal, that boat, that head, that significant shape, is
already there in the raw material, and the artist’s task is to use their skill
in releasing it, gently, purposefully, so it can be seen and admired by all.
This is analogous to the task of us all becoming artists. Our artistic talents
may be hidden below other layers but the shape of the artist is there; we just
need to work on ourselves to release it.
In the bog
wood carving class, it was good to see all the different approaches people took
to carving. And it was good to see people developing their skills, in the class
and elsewhere, so that some described themselves, or were described in the
media, as an ‘artist’. But initially, no, I wasn’t there.
Questions
about art and politics can be thorny ones. Being political is important to me,
as are my ethical and religious beliefs. I try not to separate out the
different parts of my existence; my religious or ethical part is not separate
from my political part. I see life as one, all of life as political, even what
kind of bread or food I buy is ‘political’ (and becoming increasingly so with
global warming). So it is natural that some of my art is overtly political, or
indeed religious, and some is about life, or beauty in the wood and its shape,
but not about a particular issue or concern. Overtly political pieces of
carving which I have done have included a variety of themes; racism, global
warming, human rights. The piece on racism was a retake on Brueghel’s Tower of Babel,
a common story which features in the Hebrew bible (Old Testament) at Genesis
11:1-9; the division into different languages, while preventing easy
communication, also created different cultures which are represented in my bog
wood piece by groups of bright coloured objects on the back of the tower (thus
emphasising the plus side of the Tower of Babel experience).
A piece of
bog oak carving I produced on global warming showed, on one side, a personification
of the globe or at least a woman holding the globe while on the other she is,
grotesquely, melting; no ambiguity there, I hope. If I see something overtly
political in a piece of wood then it is ‘political’, it depends what my mind
sees. If I see something I tend to go with it; doing two pieces in a row on a
death theme did make me wonder where I was at, but I haven’t done another
since. My ideas are not always matched by my skills in executing them but I
try; being an artist is not always easy.
It is not
that I am being a political activist in making a ‘political’ piece. It is being
an artist who refuses to deny his political soul (sic), who sees in and through
the wood a political theme. To deny what I see would be to deny myself. But I do
not always see a political theme; life, beauty, abstract shapes, flames,
strange animals (humorous or fantastical), all these feature in my work. There
is interaction between my cultural mind and the shape of the raw material and
what I see depends on the shape of the wood and the deep recesses of my mind
and visual perception. The whole process is creative and therapeutic –
except when I become too busy and it can slide, as it can, into ‘another thing
I have to do’.
There are
many different levels of artistry. I still couldn’t draw for nuts, and doing a
human face in three dimensions, or even two-and-a-half (in relief) is a big
challenge. I would call myself artist in natural materials; wood, usually bog
wood (oak and pine), pressed flowers and leaves, I have also utilised
driftwood, and very occasionally worked with stone where there is a shape or
pattern (e.g. a face) that I can utilise – one small piece of stone, with
the addition of a little paint for helmet, eyes, and mouth, became the head of
a Formorian warrior, a terrible figure to be afraid of. Developing a sight for
such patterns and shapes is, for me as an artist in natural materials, perhaps
the most important skill; seeing is believing what can be done with a piece.
There are
many ways to be an artist, and art is not just in visual artistry but also
verbal and aural, and indeed tactile or even olfactory. A listing of ‘how you
can be an artist’ would be a really long one but here are some examples which I
hope will persuade you, if such persuasion is necessary, that everyone has
artistic skills;
Interior
design and decoration (including choosing colours, materials, placing them in a
room), furnishings included
Architecture,
urban planning and built design
Garden
design and planting
Document
display and layout, graphic design
Crafts
of all kinds, traditional and modern
‘Fine’
arts
Art
appreciation – those who learn to understand may not be practising
artists but they are artists of the head
Clothing
and fashion
Photography
Cookery
– creativity in taste, smell, colour and presentation
Music
making and music appreciation – every kind of music, in every kind of way
Performance
art of all kinds including theatre and street theatre
Writing
– fiction and non-fiction including poetry
During the
writing of this piece another little incident came to mind about an aspect of
my work which can also be labelled art which I had not thought about. This is
due to the comments of a woman I knew very slightly to see who I met going to
the President Bush demo at Hillsborough at the end of the first phase (seeming
US victory) of the recent Iraq war. I had been involved with street theatre and
attempts to communicate creatively in public space through drama of one kind of
another about the impending war. As this woman recognised me she said, “Aren’t
you the performance artist?” I must say that I have rarely felt so complimented.
I have
enjoyed the journey to being an artist though, yes, I am aware that the wider
definition in our culture has not changed of what art is, and what it is not.
Sometimes much-publicised art is about money as much as skill or artistry, or,
it is the artistry of money. Art can be about the bizarre or the ordinary which
is everyday or really really extraordinary. Art can imitate life, and in the
modern era life increasingly also imitates art. If I had more time to be an
artist I would enjoy that; maybe, like a colleague in my bog wood carving
class, I too will eventually get a workshop at home to do it all in, and the
retirement time for it. But then fitting it in is part of the challenge. Each
piece of wood is still a challenge in a wide sense; be true to the wood, be
true to myself and what I believe, be true to life. If I can achieve that at
all then I claim the title of artist.
What is the
artist, or the hidden artist, in you? If you don’t already, how can you get to
say, yes, of course I am an artist, isn’t everyone? The question is not “Are
you an artist?” but rather “In what way or ways are you artistic?” Let’s claim
or reclaim that space called ‘art’.
Poppying
out
We’re
past the ‘season of remembrance’ for the World Wars – and other wars -
that culminates, in this part of the world, on 11th November. This year there
was some debate in the Republic on the merits and demerits of wearing red
poppies which are produced by the Royal British Legion and help support
ex-military personnel (‘service’men and women in the British military).
Interestingly this debate extended to both the Irish Times (kicked off through
an article by Fionnuala O Connor on poppy wearing in the North, 29/10/09, the
correspondence including a letter from the coordinator of INNATE and editor of
this publication) and Indymedia at www.indymedia.ie/article/72933
I certainly
wouldn’t wear a red poppy, and would probably be unlikely to sport a white
poppy either, despite being involved in promoting the latter. I think wearing
both red and white is a possible compromise for some people; recognising the
sacrifice made by many soldiers but clearly stating an opposition to war as a
methodology through wearing the white. Me? I would usually wear neither. I
would support the aims of the white poppy but be afraid of some people taking
offence (this is in the Northern Ireland context) at what they might see as an
attack on their identity and/or the sacrifice which their family members have
made by serving in the British forces. I would find it much easier to wear a
white poppy in the Republic. I have previously explored my own relationship to
‘the military’ (my Colm in NN 147) so I won’t go into that again. But I am
vehemently opposed to the way in which the 11th November ‘Remembrance Day’, and
the long lead up to it, is utilised to promote the British armed forces and the
wars Britain is engaged in. I breathe a sigh of relief when what I feel is the
divisiveness of the period coming up to 11th November in Northern Ireland is
over.
But on to a
short review of the debate in the two forums mentioned above. Both had quite a
gamut of views, the Indymedia one being generally, as you would expect,
including more on the left politically than that in the lofty portals of the
Irish Times. Indymedia kicked off with a complaint about a red poppy being
included on the Irish Google site – “Troops who carried out actions
against the civilian population in Ireland - from the massacres of ordinary
citizens around Smithfield in 1916 to the murder of Karen Reilly and Martin
Peake by paratroopers in Belfast a few years ago- are honoured and supported by
the British legion. The two soldiers who murdered Peter McBride and are still
serving in the British army are honoured by the British legion through the sale
and distribution of poppies.” The next comment put the main opposing view;
“10,000s of irishmen fought in WW1(inc. also my grand.f), we (ireland) as part
of the UK we were involved in the conflict, thus its only logical that we
should commemorate, the symbol of the red poppy may be a british legion one but
at this stage it is synonmous with the ww1 dead.” The following comment
introduced the idea of the white peace poppy (and subsequently a reference to
the PPU website in Britain selling them). Another comment said “Why not wear
nothing except your heart on your sleeve for peace?” Another quoted a WW1 poet
and gave a link to other poems, and then someone quoted Francis Ledwidge. And
so the long thread went on, a mixture of the provocative, thoughtful,
thoughtless, and sincere.
The Irish Times
correspondence began after Fionnaula O’Connor’s comments, mentioned above,
where her introductory paragraph included “Poppy season is the most muted of
Northern Ireland’s divisive issues, the resentments it causes usually silent.”
The letters began with a Canadian reflecting on wearing a poppy in the
Republic, and the next letter writer took “the view that some of those who wear
the poppy do so to antagonise the living more so than to honour the dead”,
whereas a following letter took a different tack, that “Forgetting the Irish
dead in the first World War is an act of moral cowardice.” Another letter had
suggested a peace poppy of red and white, a letter recalled white poppies in
the first half of the twentieth century, and this gave the opportunity for the
INNATE coordinator to get a letter in the paper on the availability of white
poppies today and the way red poppies, and Remembrance Day, are co-opted as
support for “whatever wars Britain may be fighting at the time”. The
correspondence trundled on for a few more letters of quite wide divergence.
Poppy wearing is certainly not an issue of agreement in society, North or
South, and in talking about poppy wearing that is one point which can be stated
categorically.
Well,
it’s coming up to Christmas and the end of the calendar year. I wish you, as
always, a Peaceful Christmas and a Preposterous New Year. Have a good break [a
break from your meanderings has to be good! – Ed] and enjoy your
religious/solstice/new year celebrations, and, to edit slightly a saying by
that old, and deceased, comedian Dave Allen, may your God, or lack of one, go
with you. Here’s to 2010, I’ll be back pestering you at the start of February
when I hope to present the annual, incredible, inedible, inaudible,
indefensible Adolf Awards once again, Billy.
Who
is Billy King? A long, long time ago, in a more
innocent age (just talking about myself you understand),
there were magazines called 'Dawn' and 'Dawn Train'
and I had a back page column in these. Now the Headitor
has asked me to come out from under the carpet to write
a Cyberspace Column 'something people won't be able
to put down' (I hope you're not carrying your monitor
around with you).
Watch this. Cast a cold eye on life, on death, horseman
pass by (because there'll almost certainly be very little
about horses even if someone with a similar name is
found astride them on gable ends around certain parts
of Norn Iron).
