Three years spent at art school, way back when (when a low point was reached by "Three Welsh Holes" in my opinion), and a subsequent few decades of attending occasional exhibitions and "Events", have done little to dispel the feeling that, on the whole, a great deal of rubbish is written and spoken in justification of something that is little more than a load of old tat dressed up to represent an idea which has been executed with little skill or craftsmanship and not much in the way of actual ability. I've never been one not to appreciate ability, but sometimes, if the idea has to be explained at such great length, I can't help but think that it either can't have been all that great an idea in the first place, or the visual representation of it must be pretty feeble if even the artist can't explain it properly through their medium.
Whatever happened to "show, don't tell...?"
Whatever happened to "show, don't tell...?"
I always believed that even the greatest of the abstract artists had to prove that they could do something rather well before being justified in then having the right to go about deconstructing their technique towards the minimal, and that you could respect their abilities, what they were truly capable of doing, and what they stripped away to make those choices. Far too many people nowadays seem to come to the arts with little in the way of skill or innate talent and get away with murder by throwing any old tat together and claiming that it is, actually, in some way significant, or that its general mediocrity is actually rather the point, especially if you call it ironic or postmodern.
("The king is in the altogether, the altogether...")
("The king is in the altogether, the altogether...")
However… My thoughts upon the Fine Arts World in general is not what we're going to discuss today.
I'm nothing if not a loyal little so-and-so, so when I heard that a former colleague of mine had gone back to higher education and become rather a mover and shaker in the fine arts arena, and was having an exhibition right upon my own doorstep (well, give or take a mile or so), it seemed only fair that I should at the very least poke my head around the door and find out what it was that she'd been getting up to.
I'm nothing if not a loyal little so-and-so, so when I heard that a former colleague of mine had gone back to higher education and become rather a mover and shaker in the fine arts arena, and was having an exhibition right upon my own doorstep (well, give or take a mile or so), it seemed only fair that I should at the very least poke my head around the door and find out what it was that she'd been getting up to.
When I'd first seen the flyer posted, I certainly had more than a vague plan to pop my head around the door at some point anyway, but I don't like to promise to do these things because I do have "previous" when it comes to failing to deliver on promises… but I absolutely, definitely meant to show my face at some point. After all, offering to give up an hour or so of my time for an old friend really should be the very least I ought to do.
My expectations were, however, very low. Not because of Sandra herself, you understand, because she was always very capable at doing whatever she did well, even back in the days when she didn't quite believe it of herself, and I was already sure that to be given such an opportunity as this, her stuff must be pretty good, but, as I've already tried to explain, because my own experience of re-engagement with the world of the arts generally.
I've been to far too many opening nights where the bullshit and the pretentiousness are flowing just as freely as the white wine, and the main purpose of people actually being there is for them to display just how clever they are because they "understand" the things that we ordinary plebs couldn't possibly "get" sometimes at just the right level of volume to ensure that the entire room knows it, whilst I've been screaming inside in the hope that someone will finally point out that the King really is in the altogether.
So, all this preamble is really just necessary to help me to explain that, in order for me to claim that something is good, I take a heck of a lot of convincing.
After all, the last time I attended anything calling itself "performance art" it involved one elderly lady slapping herself about the body a lot, and another grandmother projecting photographs of her grandchildren onto her naked breasts, so my expectations really were not all that high as I headed out - more out of loyalty than anything else - into the damp evening, I have to be admit.
Not only that, but because of recent events in my life, the subject matter as I had read it in a newspaper article - dealing with the relationship between the artist and her elderly father - wasn't all that appealing, and I did wonder whether I would find it all rather too distressing and depressing to appreciate it fully.
Nevertheless, as I arrived at The Studios Gallery fashionably late, there were people already there, but I dug out whatever bravery I could, and walked in anyway, realising very quickly that it was not the largest of spaces and, if I was to stay for the "performance" part of the evening, I was going to have to find a lot of inner resources to keep me entertained and out of everyone else's way.
However, I liked the images which were hanging on the wall, and they were good, strong pieces, interesting and well-executed, and, after I read the various notes, I think that I understood more the difficulties that the theme was trying to convey. Some of the video presentations were a little bit too "left-field" for my taste in terms of what they were trying to say, but, as it's not really my area, I'm reluctant to comment further, other than to point out that they seemed well executed and didn't outstay their welcome like some "short" films of this type have been known to.
The "performance" part, when it suddenly began, rather threw me, not least because I'd kind of expected that it would be a video of a performance that was being introduced and not something actually done "live" and, as it began, I was in a corner listening to another, audio-based, work which meant that I was parked in almost exactly the worst position to see what was going on, and kept getting concerned that the bleeps coming from out of the headphones which I'd hastily set aside sounded as if I'd left my telephone switched on for the duration.
I expect that not being face-to-face with this interaction between father and daughter was probably for the best, as memories of my own recent experiences with my dying mother did rather overwhelm me at that moment, which was an interesting, if unexpected, side-effect.
It sure as hell gets you thinking, this "art" stuff, doesn't it...?
After this short piece ended, I was about to drift off into the night when the artist herself got me chatting to a chap who runs the studios Sandra works in, and it certainly sounds like they all have a really quite interesting life. I was also able to see an earlier recording of the performance I'd just seen because a video screen was in my line of sight as I was talking, so it all started to make more sense.
I was happiest, however, that I ran into the artist herself, looking good, healthy and rejuvenated on the lifestyle, and so full of infectious enthusiasm for what she is doing that it was a revelation. I am always impressed by someone who finally finds whatever it is that they want to do with their life and who can then be focussed enough to make it work for them.
Good on you, girl!
It has struck me that, despite the obvious distress caused by their various redundancies three-and-a-half years ago, in many ways, for many of that group of friends and colleagues, being forced (however traumatic that it may seemed at the time) to break away from the safe lives they'd been living (some of them for more than twenty years), in many ways has been the making of them, and for some (if not all), it might just possibly have been the best thing that ever happened to them.
And if some good came out of it - or even just a little bit of great art (or anything that helps to make everyone's world a slightly better place) - then surely that's about as worthwhile as it can get.
I've been to far too many opening nights where the bullshit and the pretentiousness are flowing just as freely as the white wine, and the main purpose of people actually being there is for them to display just how clever they are because they "understand" the things that we ordinary plebs couldn't possibly "get" sometimes at just the right level of volume to ensure that the entire room knows it, whilst I've been screaming inside in the hope that someone will finally point out that the King really is in the altogether.
So, all this preamble is really just necessary to help me to explain that, in order for me to claim that something is good, I take a heck of a lot of convincing.
After all, the last time I attended anything calling itself "performance art" it involved one elderly lady slapping herself about the body a lot, and another grandmother projecting photographs of her grandchildren onto her naked breasts, so my expectations really were not all that high as I headed out - more out of loyalty than anything else - into the damp evening, I have to be admit.
Not only that, but because of recent events in my life, the subject matter as I had read it in a newspaper article - dealing with the relationship between the artist and her elderly father - wasn't all that appealing, and I did wonder whether I would find it all rather too distressing and depressing to appreciate it fully.
Nevertheless, as I arrived at The Studios Gallery fashionably late, there were people already there, but I dug out whatever bravery I could, and walked in anyway, realising very quickly that it was not the largest of spaces and, if I was to stay for the "performance" part of the evening, I was going to have to find a lot of inner resources to keep me entertained and out of everyone else's way.
However, I liked the images which were hanging on the wall, and they were good, strong pieces, interesting and well-executed, and, after I read the various notes, I think that I understood more the difficulties that the theme was trying to convey. Some of the video presentations were a little bit too "left-field" for my taste in terms of what they were trying to say, but, as it's not really my area, I'm reluctant to comment further, other than to point out that they seemed well executed and didn't outstay their welcome like some "short" films of this type have been known to.
The "performance" part, when it suddenly began, rather threw me, not least because I'd kind of expected that it would be a video of a performance that was being introduced and not something actually done "live" and, as it began, I was in a corner listening to another, audio-based, work which meant that I was parked in almost exactly the worst position to see what was going on, and kept getting concerned that the bleeps coming from out of the headphones which I'd hastily set aside sounded as if I'd left my telephone switched on for the duration.
I expect that not being face-to-face with this interaction between father and daughter was probably for the best, as memories of my own recent experiences with my dying mother did rather overwhelm me at that moment, which was an interesting, if unexpected, side-effect.
It sure as hell gets you thinking, this "art" stuff, doesn't it...?
After this short piece ended, I was about to drift off into the night when the artist herself got me chatting to a chap who runs the studios Sandra works in, and it certainly sounds like they all have a really quite interesting life. I was also able to see an earlier recording of the performance I'd just seen because a video screen was in my line of sight as I was talking, so it all started to make more sense.
I was happiest, however, that I ran into the artist herself, looking good, healthy and rejuvenated on the lifestyle, and so full of infectious enthusiasm for what she is doing that it was a revelation. I am always impressed by someone who finally finds whatever it is that they want to do with their life and who can then be focussed enough to make it work for them.
Good on you, girl!
It has struck me that, despite the obvious distress caused by their various redundancies three-and-a-half years ago, in many ways, for many of that group of friends and colleagues, being forced (however traumatic that it may seemed at the time) to break away from the safe lives they'd been living (some of them for more than twenty years), in many ways has been the making of them, and for some (if not all), it might just possibly have been the best thing that ever happened to them.
And if some good came out of it - or even just a little bit of great art (or anything that helps to make everyone's world a slightly better place) - then surely that's about as worthwhile as it can get.
"...handle with care"
Sandra Bouguerch's new art exhibition at the Studios Gallery, Union Road, New Mills.
Until February 21st.
Very interesting, and well worth half an hour of your time, if you get the chance.
Nicely written Martin. I agree Sandra has made some strong images, although I've always been cool to performance art since art college. It was the main reason from me switching to graphics from fine art. all of that pouring a bucket of sand down a chute into another bucket, over and over, seemed (what it was meant to be) so pointless.
ReplyDeleteThank you Martin for your positive words and insight into your previous art experiences. It was lovely to see you once again, and you yourself looking so well, much appreciated comments. x
ReplyDelete