Between worlds and other places

Another Place by Anthony Gormley. 06/04/2014. 13:44

 

This was taken in 2014 at Crosby beach. Stretched out in front of me and to the sides for 2 miles is the breath taking "Another place" by Anthony Gormley. At this point I had been working on WARTOYS for a couple of years and I was already tired of it. Constantly exposing myself and researching the worst the world could offer and turning it into art. I was also not confident in the work. I hadn't yet become proficient in the "language" or the "style" I wanted, and it was slow going. I was lucky during the proceeding years as I was almost completely surrounded by art and artists almost every day and so much of what I saw seemed so sophisticated, so polished. The concepts so high. I really wanted to make that kind of art. I remember feeling so often like I was failing so very badly. Not unlike the last year or so, it was only my "day job" art that kept me in the creative loop and kept me plugging away. Thankfully, wartoys grew and I managed to learn how to talk a little better in that style and ended up very happy with it. But during the lead up to this trip to "Another Place" I was about as self-doubting as one could be. I just wanted to make something different.

I can't remember how long we spent on the Beach that day. It was so cold, and the wind was howling. Lite drizzle came and went and myself and my then girlfriend would join, chat, divide and wonder off looking and chat again. Although I'd seen "Another Place" plenty of times in pictures and on TV it wasn't until standing in between these stoic weather beaten souls did I really begin to, or maybe even take the time to, consider the piece. I'd loved it since forever but for its technical success, problem solving, haunting beauty and probably also for being what I think is TRUE dark art. But being there on that day, being someone those figures at one time looked towards and being a guy that also looked towards them was a heavy realization. Gormley punched me square in the guts. I would have cried if not for the excitement of my realization. I remember how my mind raced and how fill with art I was. I felt touched. Not in an emotional way (although it was an emotional experience) but I felt I had received the message. I felt a connection to Gormley, or at least his idea and like we had talked and shared experiences. And there is something else. While standing among these silent lives, you feel their gaze and motion out to sea but there is a sense of orbit as well. They don’t spin, and their direction is set outward but they seem connected to one another. Like the mass of planets lock each other these longing iron spirits seem to have a similar attraction, just enough to not move too far apart yet dare not come to close together lest they collide and cease. I remember saying to my partner how they seemed like planets, whole worlds. The beach, its erosion, shifting dunes, crashing waves, birds, humans, rubbish, chaos, no doubt eventual doom, was every solar system that will ever be. I remarked to my beautiful girlfriend, “It’s like walking between worlds. Oh wow, that is a great name for a series”.

It is 8 years since that day, and I have been working on “Between Worlds” in my mind and on paper since. For the last year I have begun creating some of the work, the first of which in in the previous post, a short film “A Slowly Rounding Peg” based on the sculpture “1000 lives a moment”. Like the previous series, it is slow going. I trying to learn the language and find the style, but I am, and it feels nice. I have a few pieces fully formed in my mind and a couple coming together in the workshop, but any artist will tell you how easy that is. Any subject or idea will spit a few immediate outliers out swiftly but ensuring I will have enough to fill my time for the next 10 years or so, that is another trick. I’m working on it.

Life being what it is, I have been preoccupied well beyond what I am capable with dealing with for a while now so this blog, my social media have all been token efforts at best. As such, I have been having a little trouble “engaging”. I hope to change this and deliver some new work soon. I hope you have been well.

My kind regards

Friend or Foe

I’ve been concerned about something lately. There is an old saying that you shouldn’t talk politics, religion or money in polite company. I’m sure most of you would agree that social media doesn’t exactly qualify as polite company (I jest) but it doesn’t have to be so. 

Those of you watching may have noticed my posts, for the most part coincide with sculpture releases. You may have also noticed my anti current US administration posts. Hopefully sometime this week I’ll have an arttoy out and yes, it is very anti but there is a point and no, it’s not just about Trump bashing. If you wish to have a think about it, the title and what it symbolizes you might arrive at some ideas I’ve been interested in for a while. If not, then feel free to have a laugh or get all upset and pissy, up to you. 

Please know, I feel deeply concerned at the state of political discussion. If you ever disagree or agree with something I say or post, you have two options, we’ll call these the grown up options. 1, scroll on 2, respectfully speak your mind. Either of those suits me fine and I am always happy to engage in a conversation or promote discussion on any subject. However, there are also other options you have at your disposal. We’ll call these the snowflake options. 1, Tie up those lacey knickers in a tight little knot, hit that delete button and go off on some ranting personal attack on your favorite extremist FB page. 2, Post passive aggressive emojis and cower in your dark corner. 3, Throw your toys and post a personal attack, most probably starting with “The problem with you post-modernist Marxists…”. I’m not bothered which of or if you choose any of these or the previous options but please realise, these options speak more about you than they do about me.

Like I said, I am deeply concerned at the state of political discussion. If you wish to engage in any way and do so respectfully, I will always ensure you do not have to put up with anything less in return from me or anyone in my connections. I am not a bully and I will not stand for bullying of any kind from anyone and I do not tow any party or ideological lines. In my opinion, doing so is folly. Having said that, if you choose from the snowflake bag please know it is noted. Please know it will hurt. Not because you have offended me but because I would have thought you were better than that. Because you are the issue in our society. Because the hate, bullying, racism, violence and war is a direct result of your manners and approach to life and other humans. Choosing from the snowflake bag is a sign of not only weakness but also emotional underdevelopment and ignorance. It will bother me that you could be better but not to see you go. The choices are yours and you will live with them. I will not. I sincerely hope you are all doing well and happy and our differences are our attractions, not our boundaries. - b

"I never considered a difference of opinion in politics, in religion, in philosophy, as cause for withdrawing from a friend." - Thomas Jefferson

Bage like the Canterbury Plains

I think it's safe to say I'm unpacked and settled into the new workshop. I really dislike the term studio. It implies some kind of performance. I met a rather well known artist once who had the same opinion. He called his place of work a "practice" and punctuated it with "Musicians and monkeys perform, I practice". I don't think he meant there was a link between the two and I agree but it was an amusing way to put it. Educating folk to the ins and outs of a rare job title like Artist is, in itself, sometimes a full time job. I stick with Sculptor. It's just less hassle and it comes with a few less connotations. A lot of them are fair enough but like myths and legends, the stories can get outta hand. Like Picasso quotes, there is the statement and then the meaning.

Little me, 1000 years ago

While packing/unpacking, among the bits and bobs I stumbled on a couple of drawings I did when I was a kid. This one is from 1989 when I was 11 or 12 years old and it reminded me of so many things. My Godfather used to do stunning pen and pencil drawings. I wish I owned one. He's nothing if not a polymath. If he wasn't building huge houses or restoring old cars or motorbikes he was drawing houses, painting, cooking or pursuing some other form artistic expression. I can honestly say John not only single handedly lead me into art in the beginning but through his varied skills helped me realize that art is as honest and applicable as any trade under the sun. It was also around this time I was able to spend a fair bit of time on a farm with my Aunt and Uncle. 

Geoff Williams 1942 - 2015

 

We used to travel down from Christchurch for about an hour or so out of town down to their property to shoot rabbits. Rabbits are an introduced species in NZ and are extremely destructive to the natural environment so short of poison (not the done thing back then) a .22 was the only way to try and control the population. Of course at 11yrs old I only learned this and many other aspects of the NZ environment from these trips. We'd spend hours, day or night, walking or on the back of motorbikes or the trusty Hilux, me listening to the conversation and life tips from my uncle Alan and my Dad and once in a while, shyly offering a remark or two. They were truly good times and for a day here and there I managed to be someone helping out or part of a group of friends rather than my usual role of (insert cutting name here) that was my life in the city. The drive from Christchurch was one of my favorite parts of these trips. I'd be in the back looking out the windows at rolling hills and back then plenty of decaying barns and old sheds. At the time Geoff Williams was pretty big in NZ cultural circles and anytime spend watching Sunday afternoon TV magazine shows would eventually feature his work or an upcoming exhibition. 

All these things were a perfect storm for me. With John's inspiration, Geoff Williams' framing and my uncle's inclusiveness, I would gaze out the windows on our way through Canterbury and the world would seem so right. I used to try and use John's pen and pencil style (it seemed so masculine as far as art tools go at the time) and what Williams so cleanly pointed out and try to mash the two together. The drawing above though was never finished. I remember not being able to figure out how to draw dirt and this really pissed me off. I thought, how can someone who wants to be an Artist not be able to draw something as mundane as dirt. I felt like such a fool. I obviously thought I'd come back to it at some stage as it's still kicking round but I'm pretty sure this may have been my last attempt in this style. Funny how things turn you around even with such valuable guidance.

I'm feel very lucky to still be in touch John and my Aunty and Uncle, Jess and Alan. I've often wanted to tell them how well and completely they affected my younger years. Shamefully, it's hard to get enough of the right words out before the feelings of foolishness or embarrassment wash over me. I guess, and in the words of a friend of mine, "That's when ya know it's the truth!"    

More from Geoff Williams here

"All that I am or ever hope to be..." ― Abraham Lincoln

From left to right: The Venus of Hohle Fels,
The Venus of Dolní Věstonice,
The Venus of Willendorf

I may be slightly premature but there is method to this madness. Here in the Southern Hemisphere, tomorrow is Mothers Day. Like most holidays these days, crass commercialism often masks ideas and dilutes our reason. Not at those moments with shy eyes and lumpy throats we pass our cards or hand over gifts. Those eyes and throats know, it’s the TV ads, rushing round or the too busy to ring moments that steal so I wanted to snatch back from life this year for just a second.

Everyday of my life I walk past a photo of my Mother. It hangs in the hall in a modest black frame taken two years after I was born. She is leaning close to me as I clutch the edge of a no-doubt orange or green 70’s sofa balancing myself, in black and white. Not for style as the fading shades testament but because that was another time. Before the tellings off of my naughties, the disapprovings of my teens or eye rollings of my 20’s. Long before my memories permit my Mum sat perched, ready to catch me if I fell. This has never changed. It’s often the trees hiding the forest and in this respect a day out of 365 seems pale to bated breath, edge of seat for god knows how long but if moments and photos like this teach me anything it’s don’t wait to say thank you, or I love you or I couldn’t do this without you or you don’t look any different to me than you do in that photo Mum.

If you ever find yourself working your ass off, trying that little bit harder or taking a little more care just so someone might be proud of you. Know then that you are lucky and know they cared long before you’ll ever know. Happy Mothers Day to all the Mums and thank you to all the women who have featured in my life. Thank you for the time, lessons and helping me become a better Man. To the Mum’s to be, may you know all the reasons why…

You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

  
There seems to be a lot going at the moment. I'm undecided if that is true or I'm actually paying attention. I stopped watching News shows when I moved to the UK. The city of my birth had a sizable earthquake and the coverage was passing at best. That taught me all there is to know about the medium. I'm fully aware no "story" will give you the complete picture nor will it begin to give you the ambience. Growing up in NZ it was pretty easy to take the News at face value and attach it to my own experience. In this respect, moving around the world a couple of times was the best thing I think I have ever done, for my own growth and for increasing my understanding of my ignorance. Nowadays most of what I think or say is punctuated with "I could be wrong" or "fucked if I know". I feel far more responsible with these responses in my arsenal. I have no idea what is happening in the States. I'm so undecided about so many things it's hard to form any sort of opinion about much of it. I also obviously don't live there so tapping the zeitgeist is impossible. I am though immensely glad the morning after troubles have subsided. Have they? I'm too old for smashing shit up. I'm not so much committed to peaceful protest as I am unsure about the alternatives and the older you get you grow cautious. I can't afford a new hip ya know. Well, they say, we stand on the shoulders of giants. This not only I believe, I know. Evidence is everywhere and we now have it at our fingertips. No longer is history written by the winner. It's all here in bits and bites. 

If you have read much of this blog, or if I have crafted these words enough, you'll know I'm expert on little but I do know to find help when I need it. Please don't take this as offering advice. I wouldn't be so presumptuous but these times we find ourselves in are not the only time things have been rocky. It's only the strong backs of said Giants that make it seem so. Hence we should turn to them. So I offer this to you. I watch this doco and a similar one I've written about here at least once a year. When the world seems tough and stale faced and I find myself slowly moving in a direction there's often no coming back from this and "Your mommy kills animals" reminds me there are lessons that have been learned by many far better than I. That wants and needs are not the same. That solve must be postfixed with et coagula. If you find shit a bit rough, now or in the future. If you feel like the harshness demands equal in return. Respectfully, maybe this or the link above might just be what you need. 

Weather Underground from WUO on Vimeo.

Stay safe, don't break stuff

The last bus to St Clair.

Photo stolen from boxoflight

I once rode that last bus, left not far from Sylvia's house actually - from my flat, she would have been 16 years younger then - she might have had a better quality of life then, than me maybe - at the time, and isn't that the big thing - time..
I reread this story, every few days and it breaks my heart - but I rode that bus once in a desperate and lonely time - Dunedin can be a hard place. - J.M.H. 

Rest in Peace Sylvia Martha Neville.

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I feel a bit like a stranger here at the minute. I know ya hip to stuff. Well, stuffs a bit busy on my end and I've kinda tapped out a bit. Not like "I'm not doing any more stuff" but more like, "I've gotta cut back on stuff here and there to try and get the ends to stretch a bit closer". Well, I've trimmed here are there, I've budgeted and evaluated. I've made lists and memos and sent apologises in advance. I'm doing it right and I think good but there is a ways to go. It's not how many push ups you can do but how many you can do after it starts to hurts and that's where I'm at. A bit jelly in the arms but I'm grunting and swearing like a (K)noxious sailor and the complications are not extraordinary. Just processes, apart from a dirty wee flu, hopefully not passed on, and as processes, will be processed.

Anyway, today has been a goodun. For a reason I'll never be or deserve to be privy to, the universe has sent a few kind words. Some short catch ups, messages and well wishes. Sweet tags like butterflies and moments of serendipity, played out like Lynch on ecstasy. The timing of so many today could not be coincidence could it? Perfect like? Fresh clay. I could go on and on tonight, I'm gushing, so before a make an ass of myself, Cheers! I'm doing everything I hope you expect me to be doing and some more, there's also a healthy dose of stuff on top too. New stuff soon, old stuff still and soon more old stuff and new stuff but with more catching up.

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