Kneeling meekly, settled on our sofas and watching Strictly Come Bloating We approach the season of Celebrations, dedicated to the patron saint of corpulence; St. Slimfast and the divine message of conspicuous and abundant consumption, we prepare to initially destroy our bodies and then decide (really, really decide) to transform them into the strong, sculpted and toned Godlike physiques we know that are lurking under all that pale white flab. This is the time of resolution. The time when the diary can assume an even greater significance because it demonstrates most clearly both our strengths and our weaknesses, our successes and our failures.
Last year I bought a five-year diary with each page having five spaces on it in order to give (at the end of the demi-decade) a comparative perspective of the changes both physically, mentally and spiritually which I had achieved. 2007 was to be the start of what the Russians called a five-year plan. At the very least, I honestly believed it would recall my running times and the evidence of my fight against the evils of fatbastarditis.However and unfortunately the shameful history of 2007 (so far) are the details of a paltry, puny five runs; [in miles] 0.4, 0.4, 0.61, 1.725 and 0.4 - a magnificent total of 3.535 miles. Yes, my capacity for statistical analysis is still burning powerfully even if my motivation is cooling. However with the rationalisation of the upcoming resolution period I tell myself if I NOW start training seriously I would still never be able to meaningfully alter those statistics anyway. I tell myself they would serve better as a benchmark of indignity and having confessed (here, now, in public) I will swear to do better next year. Like writing a diary for the first week in January and then giving up I will dedicatedly and determinedly fight through to at least March. In fact having never started my five-year diary last year at all I can make 2008 the new beginning of the five-year plan and with similar skills to those Soviet apparatchiks who designed such plans in the first place I can rewrite history to fit a complete new set of facts.
Optimistically then I foresee an immediately successful year. Indeed I can probably do more mileage in one run (relatively easily) than the whole of 2007 (perhaps with a lie-down after). So 2008 will be a better running year than 2007.Additionally If I finish one drawing or painting in 2008 which I am pleased with (enough to keep) that will also be an improvement. The truth is that my expectations are so incredibly low (to match my running incredibly slow) that the future is rosy or rose-tinted at least. In the year 2008 I will be 50. England expects everyman to do his duty and I expect to do better. I expect to do more, and I expect to do it faster. I speak these words as I write them with the solemn catechismal pronunciation of the new believer - with a faith-restored and belief-bolstered conviction that things can only get better. [cue music and lights]......
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Identity. Who you are.... The Examined Life
If somebody (for whatever reason) was given the task of trying to understand how I think or who I am (or was);(although why anyone would want to do such a thing I cannot imagine) how would they go about the task ? Bearing in mind modern security warnings regarding identity theft there are clearly many ways to go about this endeavour but I am approaching it from the perspective of the individual wishing to lead "an examined life" as opposed to that of a potential stalker sizing up his next target. If you are a stalker however this may well be of help to you and if you are contemplating identity theft I would seriously reconsider your choice of individual. Incidentally now that all our personal details have been so generously distributed by our own government if you are seeking financial security it must be pointed out that there is very little money actually in my bank account. It was however empty before they lost the discs with the details on them. You are free to take over the debts though if you want.
It is said that if you look at somebody's bookshelf you can get an idea of their character. Does this also apply to the polymath or the renaissance man - adept at a multitude of tasks and skilled in them all? What does Stephen Fry's library look like ? Millions of books in front of you or just a select few ? Could it not mean that the person is just a book collector ? How they are organised gives the investigator another clue ; strict alphetical order, in dewey-decimal ranking or just a lumping of all the blue covered books together. (Or worse - a combination of everything) What does that signify ? Do we see the glimmerings of an obsessive personality ? Are the books annotated ? Do they look well-thumbed ? (Although I can't say I use my thumbs much when reading.) Are the favourite books separated ? Which books are next to the bed ? Which books are on the desk ?
Are there any diaries, notebooks, letters ? In this electronic age is there a laptop with an online diary or a blog (hastily written, in snatched episodes whilst supposed to be working) ? Emails saved in bizarrely-named folders, paintings or posters on the walls, objets d'art or just found materials scavenged from interesting walks along the river bank. Is there a special place where the individual "nested" ; a den where the person could surround themselves with the necessities of life like music, coffee or the regalia of past endeavours both successful or not ? The old baseball glove, the juggling balls, (the deduction of meaning). Consider the samurai sword and tea set bought whilst seduced in the middle of reading Shogun and brought down from the attic after watching "Kill Bill".
Do the shelves illustrate a past history of collecting and interests - endless possibilities from gardening books to cooking books, from tropical fish to almost every sort of art and craft imaginable. Even the boxes of bookmarks including those small leather types which say something like "Welcome to Conisbrough Castle". In other words Where have you been ? Clearly as I write I picture somebody watching me trying to imagine what I am like. To see yourself as others see you is a difficult project. Am I a butterfly flitting from idea to idea with no purpose or future or goal ? Or is everything linked in some vast cosmic network that at some point in time will come together, will slot into place with a vigorous and exquisitely screamed Eureka.
I am unsure exactly how many people out there in cyberspace can, could, would or will even read this. Nor is this the reason for its writing. Neither am I sure what that reason is though. I feel like writing. I know I am not really confident enough to advertise it beyond simply leaving it out there exposed (freudian choice of word) for the universe to read. I keep hoping an interesting comment might be wending its way towards me to reassure myself I am not simply talking to myself but then again in the nature of the examined life that might be highly desirable. Perhaps one day I may even surprise myself. Can one surprise oneself ? or can only others do that to you (or for you) and the madness comes steadily, stealthily closer. Muttering to itself whilst you sit there writing a conversation with yourself.
It is said that if you look at somebody's bookshelf you can get an idea of their character. Does this also apply to the polymath or the renaissance man - adept at a multitude of tasks and skilled in them all? What does Stephen Fry's library look like ? Millions of books in front of you or just a select few ? Could it not mean that the person is just a book collector ? How they are organised gives the investigator another clue ; strict alphetical order, in dewey-decimal ranking or just a lumping of all the blue covered books together. (Or worse - a combination of everything) What does that signify ? Do we see the glimmerings of an obsessive personality ? Are the books annotated ? Do they look well-thumbed ? (Although I can't say I use my thumbs much when reading.) Are the favourite books separated ? Which books are next to the bed ? Which books are on the desk ?
Are there any diaries, notebooks, letters ? In this electronic age is there a laptop with an online diary or a blog (hastily written, in snatched episodes whilst supposed to be working) ? Emails saved in bizarrely-named folders, paintings or posters on the walls, objets d'art or just found materials scavenged from interesting walks along the river bank. Is there a special place where the individual "nested" ; a den where the person could surround themselves with the necessities of life like music, coffee or the regalia of past endeavours both successful or not ? The old baseball glove, the juggling balls, (the deduction of meaning). Consider the samurai sword and tea set bought whilst seduced in the middle of reading Shogun and brought down from the attic after watching "Kill Bill".
Do the shelves illustrate a past history of collecting and interests - endless possibilities from gardening books to cooking books, from tropical fish to almost every sort of art and craft imaginable. Even the boxes of bookmarks including those small leather types which say something like "Welcome to Conisbrough Castle". In other words Where have you been ? Clearly as I write I picture somebody watching me trying to imagine what I am like. To see yourself as others see you is a difficult project. Am I a butterfly flitting from idea to idea with no purpose or future or goal ? Or is everything linked in some vast cosmic network that at some point in time will come together, will slot into place with a vigorous and exquisitely screamed Eureka.
I am unsure exactly how many people out there in cyberspace can, could, would or will even read this. Nor is this the reason for its writing. Neither am I sure what that reason is though. I feel like writing. I know I am not really confident enough to advertise it beyond simply leaving it out there exposed (freudian choice of word) for the universe to read. I keep hoping an interesting comment might be wending its way towards me to reassure myself I am not simply talking to myself but then again in the nature of the examined life that might be highly desirable. Perhaps one day I may even surprise myself. Can one surprise oneself ? or can only others do that to you (or for you) and the madness comes steadily, stealthily closer. Muttering to itself whilst you sit there writing a conversation with yourself.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Under the Weather
As Winter approaches and the evenings draw in the world of sniffles descends upon the unwary bystander. The lack of sunlight the scientists tell us is responsible for the darkness of our moods and our tumblings into misery and depression but our pagan animal instincts also move us towards the possibility of conserving our energy and even hibernating. The thoughts of huge open fires warmly inviting us to sit and stare into the flames are replaced by the functionality of the radiator and the central heating. Winter is however a time of not simply bland dormancy but hopefully recuperation. The garden sees a build up within the soil of the energy that the increasing Spring light levels and warmth will trigger to begin the cycle again.
This Wintry season is therefore a time of contemplation. It is a time to organise and to order (if possible) the chaos that surrounds us. I make lists; of ideas, of intentions, of schedules, schemes and plans. Not (for once) of world domination and how to spend my eight-figure lottery winnings but of simpler more creative concepts.
The death of Norman Mailer intrudes upon this solititude and those early discussions about the greatness (or otherwise) of the American Dream come flooding back. The potential (cruelly destroyed) of John F. Kennedy and his dreams for the Camelot administration pierced by an assassins bullet and decades of conspiracy theories. I remember considering this tragedy whilst reading "The Great Gatsby" and "The Catcher in the Rye" and thinking about the realities of the individual, the contributions each person can make and the impressions they can leave upon the world.
Winter is a time for such musings. In the semi-darkness the light can seem a long way away but cocooned within a nest of imagination, research and creativity the seeds of future productivity can be harnessed. If the outside is hostile then we can only retreat back inside - into an atmosphere which can sustain optimism and (to use a word sometimes corrupted by religious overtones) Hope. Under this duvet of re-invigoration the future may be mapped and in the strands of art or literature a vision may be glimpsed. There are no guarantees, of course sterility and stagnancy are by no means seasonal. It is as perfectly possible to fritter away the Winter as it is the Summer but because the weather and the climate and the immediate environment itself prevents alternative perspectives the best of all worlds is to rest and recover. To recoup the strength required and to plan your work under the weather, in the eye of the storm and in Spring; to come out running.
This Wintry season is therefore a time of contemplation. It is a time to organise and to order (if possible) the chaos that surrounds us. I make lists; of ideas, of intentions, of schedules, schemes and plans. Not (for once) of world domination and how to spend my eight-figure lottery winnings but of simpler more creative concepts.
The death of Norman Mailer intrudes upon this solititude and those early discussions about the greatness (or otherwise) of the American Dream come flooding back. The potential (cruelly destroyed) of John F. Kennedy and his dreams for the Camelot administration pierced by an assassins bullet and decades of conspiracy theories. I remember considering this tragedy whilst reading "The Great Gatsby" and "The Catcher in the Rye" and thinking about the realities of the individual, the contributions each person can make and the impressions they can leave upon the world.
Winter is a time for such musings. In the semi-darkness the light can seem a long way away but cocooned within a nest of imagination, research and creativity the seeds of future productivity can be harnessed. If the outside is hostile then we can only retreat back inside - into an atmosphere which can sustain optimism and (to use a word sometimes corrupted by religious overtones) Hope. Under this duvet of re-invigoration the future may be mapped and in the strands of art or literature a vision may be glimpsed. There are no guarantees, of course sterility and stagnancy are by no means seasonal. It is as perfectly possible to fritter away the Winter as it is the Summer but because the weather and the climate and the immediate environment itself prevents alternative perspectives the best of all worlds is to rest and recover. To recoup the strength required and to plan your work under the weather, in the eye of the storm and in Spring; to come out running.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Art which places you here........
In this world we inhabit where people are continually labelling and categorising everything and everybody. Where lists of the top ten or bottom ten are spread across our cultural radars. Where the omniprescent use of the sound byte indicates the perceived average attention span of the viewer or audience or congregation. Where influences are cited and homage equates with plagiarism. This image stands out. Borrowed off the Tate Britain web site this painting places Simon Patterson in the constellation of his own individual universe.
Is it reasonable to think of it as a directional mapping leading to a referenced framework from which something (or anyone) may emerge. There is no visible named linkage between the artist and his painting - no explanations of how or why or where decisions were made; no naming of names in any expected order. He gives no criteria to elucidate his choices. He grants no special favours towards his viewer or chooses one line above another. He offers the flat surface of the classic Underground plan and subverts it into something much much more. It is titled The Great Bear, a major constellation in the night sky that with the relevant astronomical knowledge would allow any traveller in a particular place to know where he is. It is, however far more than merely a signpost or a compass.
Neither is it an anonymous image. It does reveal the shadow of the artist because it conveys a sense of personal identity both by and within the dramatis personae he uses and chooses. Each individual is selected, and positioned by the artist working, in effect as an individual himself therefore if his shadow is not visible then his presence still subtly haunts the building. The image conveys within it the idea of contemporaneity (NOW) and of [wanted and unwanted] heritage (THEN) delineating the past and the present along a linear sense of directional historical value(s). It is also geographical both in its spatiality - mapping routes and/or combinations that could lead to different universes of collaborative interaction and in the variety and numerous nationalities depicted. This is not simply a white anglo saxon or masculine only construct.
Simon Patterson in this painting has created a mind map which can answer the ultimate question What is the meaning of life ? This artwork serves to define and direct the viewer to a place where it is impossible to arrive at. The journey of life, moving continuously and continually towards its close with no idea of where we are going. This image can reveal places where influences interact and significance (signification) is given a measurement as a point along a pointless scale and the viewer, lost in a world of free will and opportunity is free to position himself. For those of us - the silent majority, unnoticed and unappreciated - without that fickle dusting of celebrity are able to imagine where we reside, not on the lines but in the blankness between them.
Even from the distance of 2007 its relevance can miraculously carry on growing in meaning the viewer can with imagination extend the given lines along existing networks or create new ones to encompass new influences and dynamics. The viewer would be able to include the modern greats and not-so-greats that have since burst into life so that this image will effectively become one immortal web. This idea, born in the image, still can and does illustrate the world to the world. All it requires is for the viewer to place his mark upon it; shouting or murmuring, scribbling or spraying, using a big red arrow or a miniscule footnote, the slogan I AM HERE....
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Crisis Management
When mistakes are made, when apologies are offered and when self-esteem plummets how do we survive. After doing the unthinkable and breaking the laws and rules that govern civilised behaviour we ask ourselves questions. They start at the very lowest rung of the ladder ; do we try to re-climb the ladder or stay at the bottom. If we decide to try to climb HOW do we do it. Shyly and tentatively or brazenly and arrogantly. My impulse is to hide both physically and psychologically. To bury myself where I cannot be seen and pointed at as if the guilt is/was emblazoned on my forehead. Of course the old adage states life must go on and like the counselling sessions where one is asked Have you ever harmed yourself or thought about suicide you sense the immediate reaction. Oh God no. But the question in turn makes you think about whether you could. Like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down and wondering. Or standing at the edge of a busy road one step from destruction and contemplating Notness. Of not existing. The temptations of a peculiar sort of freedom but they offer no continuing sense of, well, enjoying oneself. And the fact that pleasure is still a possibility rather than an entitlement suggests to me there isa desire not to finish the last chapter with a cliffhanger.
So to face those demons we climb and we do it more slowly, more carefully than we have ever done before. Knowing that the ladder may not be firmly secured and knowing in our loneliness that we must accept the blame for that although in different circumstances behaviour is doubtlessly modified. One step at a time. Gently does it.
The dream is still there. Faded and flickering. HOW is important. WHY is interesting. Although busted it can still be rebuilt. HOPE survives......I hope.
So to face those demons we climb and we do it more slowly, more carefully than we have ever done before. Knowing that the ladder may not be firmly secured and knowing in our loneliness that we must accept the blame for that although in different circumstances behaviour is doubtlessly modified. One step at a time. Gently does it.
The dream is still there. Faded and flickering. HOW is important. WHY is interesting. Although busted it can still be rebuilt. HOPE survives......I hope.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
About looking and seeing....
The easel is set up. The pencil is poised. Where to start. At this point STOP. Look at the subject. REALLY look at it. Concentrate. Forget the details. Forget the exciting focal point of the image. Even if that is the most interesting part - indeed perhaps it is the reason you chose this subject in the first place. Ignore the subtlety of colour and form and texture. Look at the object in front of you. See it AS IT IS. Examine the overall composition of it. Try to see the general shapes that make up its basic construction. Sphere or cone or cube. See how they relate to each other. Picture the volume enclosed within it. Imagine the lines that describe its contours even those invisible to you at the back of the subject. Acquire an understanding of how space is broken by that object sitting within it as if the air surrounding it was the only revealing fact that showed there was an object there. Some artists acquire these "looking" skills by using this delineation of negative space to allow the outlined form to be revealed. This style of drawing avoids the cartoonifying of a sketch and producing a clumsy bordering for an outline for a drawing that if it IS incorrect in its structure will destroy the integrity of the artwork. Even using the lightest touch possible with a hard pencil to sketch in an outline allows into your drawing a mindset that is not natural. Shape, form and texture are not functions of solid line.
Similarly examine the colours of the subject or object. Do not rely on your knowledge of that subject to allow it to provide the tonal ranges as a cursory inspection may reveal. Take your time. A blackboard in the shade is a different colour to a blackboard in full sun and neither is black. Don't paint the green bottle without the reflections which change that green colour to whatever is revealed and reflected in it. In other words every object is part of its context and those surroundings impact on it as a subject but that object also impacts on those surroundings. In a landscape colours and shadows grant meaning that allows the eye to make sense of the image in terms of a particular kind of reality. To paint and sketch is to allow oneself to be drawn into a closer examination of this reality which in turn helps to make sense of other areas of artistic truth. To give oneself this possibility of a new understanding of both life and art is to uncover a potential that great artists recognise immediately but us mere mortals need to learn. And it IS a matter of learning - learning to slow down, to study, to try to see what IS in front of you NOT what you THINK is in front of you. Between this collaboration of muscle memory and intellectual rigour a new sense of artistic reality can be forged and the complexity of even the simplest object can inherit a new and stunning beauty that was, in fact, always there in front of you but never seen before. Open your eyes and look again. And again. And again.
Similarly examine the colours of the subject or object. Do not rely on your knowledge of that subject to allow it to provide the tonal ranges as a cursory inspection may reveal. Take your time. A blackboard in the shade is a different colour to a blackboard in full sun and neither is black. Don't paint the green bottle without the reflections which change that green colour to whatever is revealed and reflected in it. In other words every object is part of its context and those surroundings impact on it as a subject but that object also impacts on those surroundings. In a landscape colours and shadows grant meaning that allows the eye to make sense of the image in terms of a particular kind of reality. To paint and sketch is to allow oneself to be drawn into a closer examination of this reality which in turn helps to make sense of other areas of artistic truth. To give oneself this possibility of a new understanding of both life and art is to uncover a potential that great artists recognise immediately but us mere mortals need to learn. And it IS a matter of learning - learning to slow down, to study, to try to see what IS in front of you NOT what you THINK is in front of you. Between this collaboration of muscle memory and intellectual rigour a new sense of artistic reality can be forged and the complexity of even the simplest object can inherit a new and stunning beauty that was, in fact, always there in front of you but never seen before. Open your eyes and look again. And again. And again.
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