14th Inverness Film Festival

Eden Court, 9- 13 November.

Thhana Lazović in The High Sun/ Zvizdan, directed by Dalibor Mantanić.

Thhana Lazović in The High Sun/ Zvizdan, directed by Dalibor Mantanić.

“Cinema is universal, beyond flags and borders and passports.” Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu.

Every time I attend a film festival non film geek friends and colleagues look baffled when I tell them that I’m about to spend consecutive days and nights sitting in the dark watching films back to back, then an equal amount of time mentally unpacking them. To a lot of people films are just escapist entertainment and they certainly can be, but what I love most about film festivals- and IFF in particular, is that they expand my mind and understanding of what an amazing medium Film can be. In the hands of the best filmmakers, past and present, seeing is a multi-dimensional, active experience rather than a passive one and the same is true of the best curation. In imaginative terms we weave our own stories into what we see on screen and the shared theatrical experience of cinema-going is also part of that creative process of identification and discovery.

Napoleon (1927) Directed by Abel Gance.

Napoleon (1927) Directed by Abel Gance.

In the words of IFF Festival Director Paul MacDonald-Taylor; “One of the most magical aspects of cinema is that it opens up a window onto the world. It shows you sights and people that you might otherwise never get the chance to experience.” This year’s IFF was full of such magic, in a way that feels very responsive to the times we’re living in; expanding the world view rather than shrinking it. In exposing audiences to lives, cultures and places, unseen or unknown, independent cinema has a very significant role to play on the global stage. While debate in the industry rages about diversity, race and the under-representation of women in film, look no further than independent films and this year’s IFF programme for a lived experience of equality without the need for branding. Held over 4 days, as opposed to 10+ at larger red carpeted festivals, here there’s no room for mediocre padding. It’s about cherry picking the best films available, irrespective of where they’ve come from or who has made them. This year’s festival presented over 50 films including 6 shorts showcases, 26 Scottish and 3 UK premieres, with a thematic focus on The Roof of the World and timely celebration of women behind the camera. The presence of pioneering archival content, exciting debuts from emerging directors, outstanding performances and provocative subject matter made this a super stimulating festival and an encouraging year for women in film. There were many highlights including The High Sun, After the Storm, Paths of the Soul, The Handmaiden, United States of Love , The Eagle Huntress and Kevin Brownlow’s magnificent five and a half hour digital restoration of Abel Gance’s 1927 Silent masterpiece Napoleon to name just a few. (This might be a good time to go make yourself a cup of tea and get comfortable!)

Valentina Herszage in Kill Me Please /Mate-Me Por Favor directed by Anita Rocha da Silveira.

Valentina Herszage in Kill Me Please /Mate-Me Por Favor directed by Anita Rocha da Silveira.

IFF has a fine tradition of introducing audiences to first feature debuts by emerging directors and also providing subversive alternatives to predictably crowd pleasing  opening night fare. Set in Barra da Tijuca, Rio de Janeiro, Anita Rocha da Silveira’s debut feature Kill Me Please/ Mate-Me Por Favor is driven by teenage curiosity, fantasy and a spirit of experimentation; grappling with self, sex and death. The story centres on Bia (Valentina Herszage), a 15 year old girl and her friends over a turbulent summer. A succession of young women have been found murdered and dumped in nearby waste ground. It’s a world of dark vulnerabilities and soulless apartment blocks in which adults are conspicuously absent. Bia and her elder brother Joao, are fending for themselves while their mother pursues her own life. Joao spends most of his time at home on the internet, constructing fantasy relationships, at one point turning the focus upon the screen/camera/audience as the object of desire. It’s a film that like the fascinations of its teenage protagonists is forever shifting in and out of focus, a style of storytelling which divided the audience, but totally fits the burgeoning awareness of the central character. This state of flux is also achieved by imagery grounded in light or its absence, dreams, folklore, hauntings, and the intense ebb and flow of teenage attractions/ obsessions. It’s meant to be uncomfortable because adolescence is essentially a kind of death and particularly dualistic for young women; “Blood is life” and mortality simultaneously. The director draws upon the Giallo Horror tradition, merging that voyeuristic genre and palette with You Tube generation mobile phone selfies and music video in your face sexuality. Often the camera/ viewer is placed in the position of the killer or voyeur which is uneasy territory, but an interesting confrontation with the passivity of seeing we’ve come to expect from mainstream “coming of age” dramas. In accordance with every B Grade Horror film ever made the sex=death trope is invoked, but the heroine Bia goes out to meet that idea, challenging the concept of victimhood and objectification by actively seeking experience, which in conclusion feels like bravery on the part of the director and her heroine. In a traditional role reversal Bia’s boyfriend, who takes her to prayer meetings and wants to slow things down, isn’t demanding or aggressively masculine. Although not unmasked completely, the potential for sexual violence is tested by the female character instead, against the backdrop of local serial killings. Sometimes the imagery is disturbingly contradictory; female assertiveness VS teased out slow motion dance numbers, the female pastor in gaudy makeup and sequins preaching purity through pop music or the camera moving in and out of darkness whilst a woman is being murdered, the identity of the attacker and victim remaining hidden. In the midst of this ambiguous exploration of adolescence are the threads of an inconclusive thriller, which I suspect may have frustrated some viewers, but the serial crime here is part of an atmosphere of fear, rather than driving the narrative. The girls tell each other stories; conflate and amplify the circumstances around them, fixated on the gruesome details of the attacks and how Bia looks exactly like one of the dead girls, which in psychological terms she is. Kill Me Please is a plea to release her mature self, to find what that is on her own terms, which for young women living in the 21st Century digital age means wading through unreal realities, just like the film does. Overall Kill Me Please is an interesting twist on the coming of age genre and gender stereotypes from a promising director, seen in poetic moments such as the final emergence from the waste ground. However this first film is also too immersed in a state of immaturity to feel completely satisfying. In terms of the director’s vision, visual language/ grammar, editing, structure and the central character’s path to herself, it lacks certain cohesion and is episodic in nature; an observation rather than a criticism given the subject matter and the professional stage of development.

Garance Marillier in Raw, Directed by Julia Ducournau.

Garance Marillier in Raw, Directed by Julia Ducournau.

Julia Ducournau’s first feature Raw delivers another psychological twist on Femininity and the Body Horror genre, giving a referential nod to the excellent Canadian chiller Ginger Snaps and Brian DePalma’s Carrie in its exploration of sexual maturity and awakening hunger. Justine (Garance Marillier) goes to join her older sister at veterinary school, leaving her parents (who are also vets and vegetarians), her middle class home and the influence of her apparently cold and domineering mother. During the first week of hazing rituals Justine is forced to abandon her principles and conform; subjected to humiliating ordeals by older students including having to eat raw meat, triggering an insatiable appetite within.  It’s an institution of learning that looks more like an abandoned hospital, a cold, empty and increasingly hostile place, where figures of adult authority are almost permanently absent, allowing the students to rule each other. It’s a place to effectively lose yourself in drink, drugs and house parties, rather than find yourself- especially as a young woman. Justine’s tutor hates her because she’s top of the class, stating that her intelligence will only make the other students feel inadequate. Conformity is pitched against self-discovery, denial against freedom, in increasingly extreme ways and as the plot unfolds there are many red herrings to keep the audience guessing. Apparently paramedics had to be called to the Toronto Film Festival screening to deal with viewer feinting and wrenching, but that strikes me as the ideal marketing ploy off the back of two weak stomachs, rather than an accurate reflection of the content. The gore is actually more sparing than I expected and realistic rather than graphic. This is a refreshingly smart film where the most effective moments of tension and unease are also the quietest; like a sheet coming off a dog on a mortuary slab in slow motion, heightening our sense of something internally being unleashed. The female line of the family are contained within a polarity of behaviour and the intentional blurred lines between human and animal instinct. This isn’t a story which pivots on the physical onset of sexual maturity, but feminine psychological/ sexual maturity, so in evolutionary Horror terms Raw definitely feels like a step up from the norm. As Justine’s metaphorical hunger takes hold of her and the violence escalates, we’re shown the consequences of an environment that does nothing to feed or nurture the Female psyche. Without giving away too much the final reveal is intelligently satisfying. Ultimately Ducournau suggests that whilst we have to find ways of living with our needs and desires, denial isn’t much of a life choice! Whilst Justine is at war with conflicting aspects of herself she’s not cast in the traditional female horror role of a fleeing, helpless victim, pursued by forces more powerful than her. Although she is victimised and in spite of an inheritance that threatens to overwhelm and isolate her, she holds power within herself.

Bethany Whitmore in Girl Asleep Directed by Rosemary Myers.

Bethany Whitmore in Girl Asleep Directed by Rosemary Myers.

In complete contrast the confusion, fear and momentous change of adolescence is tackled with comedic effect in the Australian film Girl Asleep. A first feature for director Rosemary Myers and playwright Matthew Whittet, based on their acclaimed Windmill Theatre production, I’ll admit that my critical assessment of this film is somewhat clouded by my background. Being born in 1971 Australia, into a suburban middle class world of corduroy brown and lurid canary yellow, this is a film full of cultural references and triggers of childhood memories. In the late 1970’s Australia was a land of exotic pineapples and tooth picked finger food stuck in half an orange, patios paved for entertaining, the throb of disco music closely followed by electro synth-pop, all in one leisure suits with synthetic material engineered to make you sweat, panel vans with custom painted side stripes, wood veneer and shag pile carpets.  Like the central character Greta Driscoll, (played with perfectly understated bewilderment by Bethany Whitmore) I too fastened my pigtails with brown bobbles, was equine obsessed, content not to socialise (much to my mother’s dismay), had a rebellious, outgoing elder sister, refused to have significant coming of age related parties and could count my friends on less than half a hand. In consequence this film naturally resonated with me and I clearly found it laugh out loud funnier than the rest of the audience. The challenge in adapting a stage production for the screen is creating suspension of disbelief in the cinema. Whatever the viewer’s background or life experience, to enjoy this film I think you need to be prepared to be like Greta, able to access the imaginative child within; the self that you never want to say goodbye to completely, in order to stay with Girl Asleep once it starts to get weird! The problem is, unlike Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom, which is a fully realised cinematic vision of bright retro innocence, humour and absurdity, Myers’ film gets a bit lost in translation. I suspect that it didn’t quite work for the audience I was watching it with as it is too anchored in its recreation of a particular time and place; which isn’t really a problem if you were there, but significantly less entertaining if you weren’t. The film’s aesthetic path; following Greta Driscoll into a forest dream state of mind with strange costumed beasts, felt comfortingly familiar having grown up reading the very popular Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are. There are moments of pathos and recognition; Greta meeting her leafy, decaying forest Dad reciting bad jokes that she is on the cusp of not finding funny anymore or being confronted by her younger self who she needs to integrate into the young woman she is becoming. However there aren’t enough of these universal touchstones in the film as a whole, even though the performances are heartfelt. Ultimately Girl Asleep is a positive fairy tale fighting its way out of a ground of 1970’s cultural kitsch. (I’ve had Sylvester’s disco hit “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) stuck in my head for days!) The best thing about Girl Asleep is that the girl in question is able to save and find herself, without the intervention of parents, peers or prospective romantic partners. It’s an uplifting film about letting go of your plastic horses and dancing to your own tune.

Another nostalgically packaged period piece is Amma Asante’s A United Kingdom, although sadly it reduces its complex subject to a conservative love story pitched to a Merchant Ivory audience. Asante’s previous feature Belle was much more subtle and affecting in its exploration of race, class and gender. The story of Seretse Khama, King of Bechuanaland (modern Botswana) and Ruth Williams, a London office worker he married in 1947 (with powerful opposition from the British, South African, South Rhodesian governments and both their families), is frustratingly narrow as depicted in this film. As always David Oyelowo is a wonderful screen presence and lights up every frame, but Rosamund Pike has nothing to do within the confines of the script other than look besotted, bewildered and fulfil the traditional function of giving birth. The story revealed during the closing credits of the couple’s whole life together and how their lives actively challenged racism is a thousand times more interesting than the saccharine romance we are served. The film is very pretty to look at, but I intensely disliked the quintessential Britishness of the language; cloaked in politeness, which feels like a double betrayal of its subject. Seretse’s treatment is reduced to quips about sherry and British government officials are portrayed for their pomposity, rather than brutal calculation, commercial exploitation and greed.  It’s a film made for a mainstream audience that doesn’t feel true to the urgency and relevance of the issues it is trying to address. Perhaps more time should have been spent developing the script than sourcing authentic  tea dress fabric. To be fair I suspect that the film is a victim of politics, production values and box office marketability rather than a lack of integrity on the part of its director. It also feels like a very engineered, neat policy statement by backers in the face of industry criticism, which seldom creates great Art. My feeling is that the world is ready for a more progressive telling of Seretse and Ruth’s story than what this film delivers. Undeniably it is a great love story, but it is also significantly more than that. Critically the clue is in the title as to the sentimental tone and genteel delivery of the film’s message. When I compare A United Kingdom to outstanding independent films which dominate the rest of the IFF programme, its faults are amplified. It isn’t a bad film, just a well-meaning one and that isn’t enough to satisfy.

Have You Seen My Movie? Directed By Paul Anton Smith.

Have You Seen My Movie? Directed By Paul Anton Smith.

You Tube generation mash ups, or appropriating historical or found film footage and reimagining it, has become a very popular genre on the internet in recent years. There’s a whole lot of it floating out there in cyberspace, ranging from the most rudimentary splicing of favourite film moments to music on bedroom laptops, shared with friends and occasionally going viral, to Artist Film with a greater emphasis on Craft and experimentation, pushing the boundaries of the medium. Paul Anton Smith’s Have You Seen My Movie? assembles clips from hundreds of films from different eras and all over the world. It encapsulates the experience of cinema going, the cinema audience beholding itself and triggers memories in the mind of the viewer; not just in terms of films/ titles seen, but acknowledging cinema as a theatrical and essentially social environment. Photography and film are inexorably entwined with human memory and although the film is loosely structured around a linear path; from buying a ticket to emergence from the cinema, its meanderings and final sequential comment on film are thankfully a bit more complex. The dovetailing of several different clips overlaid with singular pieces of dialogue effectively expands the viewer’s frame of reference and range of associative meanings. Arguably we go to the cinema communally to experience some kind of journey and self-reflection, whether that is escapist or confrontational. Cinema is a space where we grow up, fall in love, are entertained, educated, participate in social etiquette and where we go to immerse ourselves in projected dreams, hopes and desires. There are plenty of stars and iconic screen moments in this film that film geeks will love, but the focus here is really on the audience and the human face; the interactions with what is on screen and audience members with each other. Have You Seen My Movie?  doesn’t have the editorial rhythm or thrilling momentum of György Pálfi’s Final Cut- Ladies and Gentlemen (winner of the 2012 IFF Audience Award), but moves in and out of time more loosely, allowing moments of connection to surface within the viewer. Having worked on The Clock, (video artist Christian Marclay’s looped 24 hour montage of scenes from cinema and TV which operates as a clock through real time filmic references) Smith’s composition is less fully formed in terms of his ideas and technique equalling each other. There are glimmers of something less dependent on personal association and more universally poetic emerging in the final sequence; which for me is a meditation on the so called “death of film” in our century and the increasing loss of picture houses in cities around the world. We lose film and we lose ourselves because our memories are bound up in that decaying, celluloid world, however Smith’s parting visual statement also contains a glimmer of hope. The final montage sequence begins with a child stealing promotional photographs from Citizen Cain through the caged grill of a movie theatre entrance, followed by a masked, dance like scattering of dreams from Georges Franju’s Eyes without a Face, the snow globe falling to the floor to the mute utterance of “Rosebud” in the final moments of Orson Wells’ Citizen Cain, Moira Shearer’s feet in spiralling pirouette in Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes ,dancing herself to death,  a scene of a graveyard and finally we see the child running off into the night with the stills before the projector stops. Whether the films these clips are taken from are known to the viewer or not, the director’s final commentary in this concluding sequence speaks of death, regret and loss. Equally the figure of the child coveting still images from a timeless film and running away with them feels like a reflection of Contemporary Art; an ever increasing Net of visual material, scoured for breadth of content rather than depth of retrieval, until the child grows up and learns what to do with it. It isn’t enough for an artist to simply appropriate and reassemble. For a film or art installation to timelessly stand on its own, it needs an evolving foundation of Craft, integral to the film making process. I thoroughly enjoyed Paul Anton Smith’s Have You Seen My Movie? because at heart I’m a film geek. Movie-going has always been part of my life from a very young age and cinema is invested with my most intimate memories. Films like this are therefore a very rich source of visual, emotional, cerebral and sensual triggers and I’m sure I’m not alone in that respect. However in contemplating seeing Smith’s future work I’m reminded of Orson Wells’ comment about the “eloquence of cinema” being “achieved in the editing room”.

Movie going memories are at the centre of the three year Major Minor Cinema: Highlands and Islands Film Guild 1946-71 project www.hifilmguild.gla.ac.uk , a collaboration between the University of Glasgow and University of Stirling, funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC). The Highlands and Islands Film Guild grew out of the Scottish Film Council’s pre-war programme of making non-commercial 16mm films available to rural areas with the intention of improving leisure facilities and social cohesion. The project aims include “building an oral history archive of cinema audiences and operators” and “exploring the creative possibilities of memory and oral traditions” with an open call for anyone who would like to contribute to the project during 2016-17.  These aspects of collaboration, creativity and research were the basis for two events at IFF; a 16mm programme of screenings typical of those that would have been shown by the film guild in village halls, featuring Scott of the Antarctic (1948), a newsreel, cartoon, an information film and readings of “newly commissioned works inspired by memories of cinema going”, followed by a half-day creative writing workshop. Led by poet /writer Nalini Paul and writer /film academic, Sarah Neely this Saturday morning session included guided exercises with the direct stimulus of archival material, cinema memorabilia, filmic artefacts and 16mm projection, together with shared memories of cinema going from round table participants. It was fantastic to hear people’s perceptive experiences and kick start the creative process of writing about one’s own cinematic memories in such a supportive environment. It would have been great to further develop this work with the group over several days and I think everyone who participated thoroughly enjoyed it, giving us plenty to explore and refine on our own. Something that emerged from discussion and reminiscences were the connections with family, social interactions, communities and the cinema as a place not just of sight and sound experiences, but for smell, taste and touch as well. Significantly what was happening around us, our stage of life and who we went to the cinema with, were just as important as what was on screen. The session was much more than reminiscences in a warm haze of nostalgia. Creatively accessing our cinema-going memories was a way of coming to terms with those we’d loved and lost, reliving defining and sometimes comic moments from our youth, reassessing our relationships with home, family, community and nationality, all with cinema as the catalyst.

United States of Love United States of Love / Zjednoczone Stany Milości directed by Tomas Wasilewski.

United States of Love United States of Love / Zjednoczone Stany Milości directed by Tomas Wasilewski.

Human relationships come under an emotional microscope in Writer /Director Tomas Wasilewski’s United States of Love / Zjednoczone Stany Milości. His previous feature Floating Skyscrape screened at IFF 2013 and it is exciting to see such a leap of stylistic development in his latest film. Although the title suggests optimism it’s sharply ironic, an examination of states of love, united in obsessive dysfunction, the antithesis of life giving passion. From the opening shots the bleached emotional tone is set by hue; a chilled palette of blushed blue and green monochrome like a dead body with all the blood drained out of it or an aged, tinted photograph. Director of Photography Oleg Mutu (4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, In the FogIn Bloom) composes imagery perfectly in sync with the impossibility of love and doomed aspirations of the film’s protagonists. Sequences are framed with brilliantly expressive use of the human body, often cut off by the composition, leading the viewer deeper into the experience of the central characters. With experience written on the body at pivotal moments, instead of actor’s faces, it is easier for the viewer to project themselves into the frame in a way that maintains ultimate tension within a scene. We’re used to love stories told in deliriously absorbing close up flesh tones, what we’re given is perhaps something more honest, in terms of the annihilating disconnect of desire, love and passion when it is unrequited, a projected illusion or a lie.  Although this is a icy film in terms of its emotive pitch, the performances by its four lead actresses are astonishing, delivered with emotional intelligence that challenges what some audience members perceived as a misogynist film. Although what happens to his four female leads is brutal and unforgiving, I think Wasilewski’s focus is more expansive than gender alone. Very nuanced performances give his characters a depth of life that resists such a reductive interpretation. Admittedly these are undesirable depths and that we probably don’t wish to see or acknowledge. Like Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, it is painfully raw, disturbing and ultimately full of despair. But in creating such a bleak vision of the human condition, identity and relationships, the director actively challenges our idealised aspirations of what love is and also very importantly acknowledges collective scars of repression. Whilst the story centres very personally on four women whose lives are entwined, historically the story is set at a very particular time; 1990’s Poland, with the promise of freedom from the newly established democratic government after years of repressive state rule.  It would be a naïve director who would portray such a period as a door of freedom and possibility simply being opened. The past always needs acknowledgment before a future is possible and sometimes scars are too deep to be healed, deforming the idealised love we crave, seen in the lives of Wasilewski’s four main protagonists. Iza (Magdalena Cielecka) is a school principal, whose six year affair with a married man comes to an end with his wife’s death. Still desperately obsessed with her lover she tries to get him back through his daughter, ending in circumstantial violence and tragedy. Her icy manipulation is matched by her lover’s, a doctor who in violation of his profession reacts to her pitiable cry of “I’ll do anything” (for you) with the suggestion of suicide. It’s a relationship in which neither side will ever attain what they need from the other, as each is a distorted projection of the other’s desires. Iza’s younger sister Marzena (Marta Nieradkiewicz) is a dance and fitness instructor and former beauty queen whose husband is away working in Germany for the promise of a better life. Desperately lonely but wearing a mask of cheerfulness her path crosses with her neighbour Renata (Dorota Kolak), a middle aged English teacher who becomes fixated on her and lives alone in an apartment full of canaries. Kolak’s performance is incredible; constrained in sadness, cunning, self-gratification and yearning. It’s a deeply disturbing performance in which Marzena’s unconscious violation at the hands of a predatory photographer is compounded by Renata’s pleasure in attending her naked body. It is a death to Marzena as we have come to know her throughout the film; as a kind and compassionate young woman, giving birth to something twisted and monstrous in the heart of her covetous older neighbour and changing her life forever. This subversion of female behaviour as innately nurturing, caring and giving is extreme and all the more shocking for its quietly considered, patient reveal. When combined with earlier scenes of Renata teaching poetry and speaking of “pure” love, Wasilewski raises the very awkward question of what love actually is. Throughout the film we see lives devastated by the promise of things which weren’t real to start with- which turned my mind back to the euphoric promise of of the Berlin wall coming down and to the current state of Europe. Although this is a film that will divide audiences it is not devoid of empathy. In Agata’s story line we see a woman, stuck in a loveless marriage and suffering from depression who becomes obsessed with a young priest as an object of unattainable, idealised love/desire. That idealisation is also reflected in a bible class where children are told that “love will be the most important thing in your life” with all the ironically attendant constraints of religious doctrine. Julia Kijowska’s performance conveys Agata’s longing and desperation, with clever sound design of dogs barking when beholding the priest a very effective conveyance of rabid, obsessive desire; the kind people try to fill the void at the centre of them with. She initiates sex with her husband that is ferocious in its intensity but devoid of any mutual feeling, expressing her need to connect in a sheer act of desperation as she pleads with him; ”touch me”, “look at me” , in what is an utterly heart breaking scene.  The United States of Love is a thoroughly engrossingly, deeply sad and affecting film, elevated by excellent performances from its four female leads.

Thhana Lazović and Goran Marković in The High Sun/ Zvizdan, Directed by Dalibor Mantanić.

Thhana Lazović and Goran Marković in The High Sun/ Zvizdan, Directed by Dalibor Mantanić.

Winner of 12 international film awards, Croatian director Dalibor Mantanić’s The High Sun/ Zvizdan is a humane, compassionate and ultimately hopeful story of forbidden love and the impact of war in the former Yugoslavia, told over three consecutive decades. The three couples in this trilogy of interlocking stories; Jelena & Ivan (1991), Natasa & Ante (2001) and Marija & Luka (2011) are all played by the film’s two astounding lead actors, Thhana Lazović and Goran Marković.  With breath taking intensity and poise, they inhabit their roles rather than playing them; from innocence to world weary experience. They convey shattering fragility and incredible strength with minimal dialogue, revealed in their eyes, facial expressions and gestures. We aren’t told or shown everything that has happened to Natasa/ Ante and Marija/ Luka but we resoundingly feel it, in the full emotional gravitas of the actor’s performances. In the points of connection between these three love stories, there is a sense of the randomness of fate, depending on the accident of which side of the border between two Balkan villages and which generation the characters belong to. The inference is that the story could also be our own in a different time and place. In the hands of this director the love that brings people together against all odds, circumstance and in spite of cultural difference is greater than the ethnic hatred that divides them. The High Sun is inspirational in that respect; love is hope, the one thing that enables us to survive and give our lives meaning. Mantanić acknowledges loss and suffering out of which the possibility of new life emerges and in so doing finds a path through history, memory and remembrance of human atrocity. This intelligence is applied equally to both sides as we see the motivations and inheritance of the characters, their families and communities. One of Mantanić’s great strengths is in what he chooses not to tell the audience. Natasa’s reactions to Ante tell us everything we need to know about her bodily experience of war and her profound need to connect with him in spite of that trauma in order to keep living. Such scenes are extreme tests of faith and trust, where characters clinging to life have to learn to live again, something they cannot do without each other. Mantanić’s vision as an artist is big enough to acknowledge decades of hatred and trauma without judgement, transcending national borders and ethnicity. He is also able to shine a light on the unseen experiences of women; Natasa who sinks down in the small dark gap between houses and the anguish of her mother who cannot be anything but strong, in denial of her own experiences, trying to rebuild their lives. The reverberations run so deep, through the body and into the soil. In spite of its daunting subject matter The High Sun is a beautiful film crafted with care, humanity and hope which I can be nothing but glad to have seen.

Vincent Cassel and Marion Cotillard in It's Only the End of the World, Directed by Xavier Dolan.

Vincent Cassel and Marion Cotillard in It’s Only the End of the World, Directed by Xavier Dolan.

The great unsaid of familial relationships is brought sharply into focus by French-Canadian director Xavier Dolan’s It’s Only the End of the World, winner of the Grand Jury Prize and the prize of the Ecumenical Jury at Cannes.  It’s Dolan doing what he does best; finely observed, cathartic explorations of relationships between mothers and sons, brothers and sisters, absent fathers and conflicted male identity.  Following the critical triumph of his last film Mommy he has assembled an amazing cast including Vincent Cassel, Marion Cotillard, Léa Seydoux and Nathalie Baye. Adapted from the stage play by Jean-Luc Lagarde Dolan reveals a claustrophobically close unit of estranged individuals, brought together by Louis, (Gaspard Ulliel) a terminally ill writer who returns home to his family after 12 years in order to tell them that he’s dying. Cassel and Cotilard play their roles to perfection as husband and wife; he as a tightening coil of anger and resentment towards his brother, she the only one of the family ,as outsider sister/ daughter in law, who hears and sees through Louis’s defensive silence.  Reunited with a sister (Léa Seydoux) he hasn’t grown up with,  a brother  who hates him and a mother who sees what she wants to see in the assembled family, there is simply no room for Louis to speak or be heard. The food is prepared and arranged for hospitality, intimacy and sharing but there is no existing dynamic between the characters to feed any of them. The excruciating awkwardness of people belonging to each other without real contact or understanding, waiting for admission into each other lives and incapable of communication is heart rending in its truth. It’s Only the End of the World has the set focus of a stage play but the performances and Dolan’s writing, direction and editing make it a compelling film in its own right. The director provides his characteristic focus on lives and primary relationships in close up, thankfully easing up on borderline music video use of soundtrack in this latest film. Use of light and avian symbolism in the closing scenes bring a sense of resolution and closure for the main character, aided by Ulliel’s consistently understated performance, but what we are left with is a sad truth about how alone we can be in a room full of blood relatives, both reinforcing and perpetuating the foundation of Louis’s decision to leave. The action centres on a single day in these character’s lives and just like many family gatherings the focus and energy naturally implode with all the pent up histories between parents, children and siblings, coupled with the need for a perfect celebration of togetherness.  In consequence it is a film that viewer’s will either identify with or find completely unrelenting in the forced intensity and dysfunction of the interactions. Yes, these people aren’t particularly likeable and they probably don’t belong in the same room together, but they are also human; too frightened to engage in anything but habitual role play, extinguishing the possibility of change or finding the love, comfort and support which they each need, but are unlikely to find with each other. Although in many ways I prefer Dolan’s previous film Mommy which offers humour, acceptance and connection in greater supply, Dolan’s evolution as a director is something I will continue to watch with interest.

After the Storm/ Umi Yori Mo Mada Fukaku, Directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda.

After the Storm/ Umi Yori Mo Mada Fukaku, Directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda.

Written, edited and directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda After the Storm/ Umi Yori Mo Mada Fukaku delivers a characteristically tender and knowing  vision of family life in contemporary Japan.  Consistent with the domestic focus of his previous work (Nobody Knows, Still Walking, I Wish, Like Father Like Son, Our Little Sister) he proves himself a worthy successor of Yasujirō Ozu’s finely observed and sublimely subtle naturalism. Here Kore-eda delivers a resolutely quiet and equally revealing film about love, regret and waking up to find you’re not living the life that you’d hoped for. Ryota (Hiroshi Abe) is a writer whose first prize winning book 15 years ago was also his last. He’s forced to work as a private detective; spying on cheating spouses and finding lost pets to support his gambling addiction, inherited from his Father and Grandfather. He’s estranged from his ex-wife Kyoko (Yoko Maki) who he’s still in love with and desperately wants to reconnect with his young son Shingo (Taiyo Yoshizawa). Taking refuge from a typhoon with Ryota’s mother (the brilliant Kirin Kiki) provides the catalyst for an unlikely reunion between them and acceptance of what has come to pass. The entire cast are wonderful with familial bonds, humour, tensions and truths between them perfectly realised. After arguably taking a slight creative dip in his two previous films, this is a lovingly crafted return to form and along with I Wish, one of the director’s best films to date. Like Ryota’s reply to his son’s question; “Are you who you wanted to be?” Kore-eda’s answer to the audience is; “not yet- what matters is to live to become what I might be” and in creative terms it feels like he’s almost there.

Taraneh Alidoosti and Shahab Hosseini in The Salesman /Forushande , Directed by Asghar Farhadi.

Taraneh Alidoosti and Shahab Hosseini in The Salesman /Forushande , Directed by Asghar Farhadi.

Another distinctive and accomplished director focusing on family centred drama is Asghar Farhadi (About Elly, A Separation, The Past), a cerebral director whose characters are typically constrained culturally, by circumstance or both. His latest film The Salesman/ Forushande brings together parallel stories, on stage and screen, with emotional points of intersection and recognition between them. A young married couple; Emad (Shahab Hosseini) and Rana (Taraneh Alidoosti) are forced out of their Tehran apartment building by its imminent collapse, taking refuge in a recently vacated apartment managed by a friend from the theatre they both work in.  In the company’s latest production the couple are starring as Willy and Linda Loman in Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, under the watchful eye of state censors. After moving into the apartment Rana is subjected to an assault when she mistakenly lets someone in, believing them to be her husband. Later they discover from neighbours that the previous tenant was a prostitute (or a woman who had a lot of male visitors- in this world the two are synonymous) and it is assumed that Rana’s attacker was therefore a previous client. In a climate of denial to friends, neighbours and family that anything has actually happened; and with guilt, fear and the impending threat of judgement, it becomes increasingly hard for the viewer to tell what the truth is. Clearly traumatised by what has happened, Rana is unable to function or to seek help as disclosure is too shameful and as several characters affirm, her fears that the police will not do anything and blame her for the attack are well founded. Not surprisingly when subjected to the extreme pressure of these circumstances, coupled with keeping face, maintaining honour and wearing a mask for the benefit of others, cracks start to appear in the marriage. Emad is consumed by finding Rana’s assailant and taking revenge, while his wife turns in on herself, doubting her own actions and assuming responsibility for what has happened to her. By the end of the film the identity of the perpetrator brings further questions about truth and oppression, as we begin to empathise with characters in ways we do not expect and doubt our own judgement. Farhadi is a master at reflecting universal human experience, magnified by a very particular cultural lens and effectively calling the audience’s beliefs and assumptions into question; “I believe that the world today needs more questions than answers. Answers prevent you from questioning, from thinking…If you give an answer to your viewer; your film will simply finish in the movie theatre. But when you pose questions, your film actually begins after people watch it. In fact, your film will continue inside the viewer.” The artifice of the play, the deception and truth behind the fiction makes The Salesman a fascinating study of lives fractured by repression.

The Handmaiden / AH-GA-SSI , Directed by Park Chan-wook.

The Handmaiden / AH-GA-SSI , Directed by Park Chan-wook.

Male sexual repression is contrasted with burgeoning female sexuality in Park Chan-wook’s erotic thriller The Handmaiden/ AH-GA-SSI which adapts Sarah Waters’ award-winning novel Fingersmith, relocating the story from Victorian Britain to 1930s Korea, an era of Japanese Colonialism. In keeping with the director’s previous films (Stoker, Lady Vengeance, Old Boy)  there are elements of sadism and pushing sexual boundaries in keeping with the director’s statement that; “Certain subjects may no longer be taboo in cinema. But there are ways to treat them that still create shock”. His last film and first Western crossover Stoker played with expectations of the feminine very successfully and introduced stylistic elements of Gothic, which are thematically and aesthetically refined in The Handmaiden. It’s a visually sumptuous and opulent film, written like a beautifully crafted puzzle box and with more humour than we might have come to expect from its director.  Sookee (Tae-ri Kim) is hired as a handmaiden to Hideko ( Kim Min-hee), a Japanese Heiress who lives with her domineering and abusive Uncle, a collector of erotic antique scrolls and books which he has been forcing his niece to read at soirees/ performances for male nobles from a very young age. The new maid is a pickpocket recruited by the leader of a criminal gang to infiltrate the household and assist him in his plan to disguise himself as a Count, seduce, marry, rob the heiress of her fortune and have her committed to a madhouse. It’s a plot twisting story of subterfuge in the Film Noir tradition, a planned escapade which starts to unravel when Sookee and Hideko discover their feeling for each other.  There are scenes in which female bodies are arranged and displayed with unrealistic  symmetrically for a male gaze, which when coupled with the film’s overall aesthetic feels rather self-indulgent on the part of the director. However this is at base complex tale that restrains and releases its audience on multiple levels and is therefore satisfying to watch, regardless of sexual orientation or gender. Park Chan-wook is a controversial director by nature but that doesn’t extinguish the eroticism or the political subtext of this work in terms of dominance / submission and independence / colonialism.  It is as much about Korea under Japanese occupation as it is a love story between two women or a crime thriller, we’re just not accustomed to seeing female desire explicitly depicted on screen and therefore it can appear shocking. Personally I think it’s one of his best films; audacious, well-crafted, more holistically distilled in its vision than previous work, an effectively telling combination of East and West, a compelling depiction of multifaceted Femininity, love and human sexuality in all its delight and darkness. It’s provocative rather than shockingly violent or extreme when compared to earlier films like Old Boy. Infiltration of the Feminine into his work on a variety of levels has enriched it considerably. (Male artists/ filmmakers take note!)

Paths of the Soul/ Kang Rinpoche Directed by Yang Zhang

Paths of the Soul/ Kang Rinpoche Directed by Yang Zhang

One of my favourite films this year and part of The Roof of the World thematic strand of the festival was Paths of the Soul/ Kang Rinpoche by director Yang Zhang. This exquisitely beautiful film follows the 2000km pilgrimage of a group of villagers across Tibet to Lhasa and the sacred Kang’s Mountain. From the opening shots a way of life is established in the rhythm of meditative song and prayer, which the viewer becomes progressively immersed in. In many ways this film is a gentle invitation towards a different way of being in the world, making Western values and pursuits seem absurdly trivial in comparison and expanding the idea of spirituality into the everyday. Regardless of the viewer’s spiritual or religious beliefs Paths of the Soul has universal appeal in being grounded in something very basic in terms of our existence- our connections with each other which is the key to sustainability. In accordance with tradition, the pilgrimage is “for others and for everyone” – a completely different trajectory of being that illuminates the rampant self-gratification of 21st century urban life. That is not to romanticise rural life in Tibet which like the pilgrim’s road is shown to be extremely hard, it is simply that the intention behind making the journey is fundamentally different to what drives our increasingly globalised, unsustainable consumption. Mobile phones have reached these mountains, but their primary use is communication with relatives who have remained at home during the extended period of pilgrimage. Shot over the course of a year this film is a thoroughly immersive experience, encompassing birth, death, joy and sorrow, accepted as part of life. The beauty of the landscape and humility of human scale within it put life into perspective. Pilgrims share goodwill, tea and rest, prostrating themselves to kowtow along the road with “a bump on the head” as “proof of piety”. There is a subtle, guiding presence of light throughout the film, not only in the natural environment but in people who for the most part seem happy and content with their lot in spite of hardship. When the road floods they kowtow right through it, smiling as they go, drenched and laughing, no one is excluded or left behind, encouragement is given from the youngest to the oldest member of the group. It’s a physical and spiritual marathon of tenacious endurance, made possible by faith and their care for each other. These qualities are openly shared with the audience and an absolute gift to a chaotic and conflicted world. At the film’s conclusion in darkness and submerged in the primal immediacy of sound, polyphonic voices transcend all belief systems or denominations, communicating the best of what we are as a species. It’s an invitation to join and carry that spirit of prayer and being out into the world. Above all else I loved the baseline of this film which is not ethnographic or religious but simply human.

Another delightful film in the Roof of the World strand was The Black Hen/ Kalo Pothi directed by Min Bahadur Bham, the first Nepali film to be screened at the Venice International Film Festival. Set in a small war-torn village in Northern Nepal during a temporary ceasefire, two young boys; Prakash and Kiran are separated by class and caste but are determined to remain friends. They join forces to find a lost hen, a pet given to Prakash by his sister who has been recruited by Maoist forces. In spite of the obvious tensions, precarious circumstances of civil war and divisions within the community this is a charming film, full of warmth, humour and insight that often only a child’s eyes, or the child within the adult, can perceive.

The Eagle Huntress, directed by Otto Bell

The Eagle Huntress, directed by Otto Bel.

Also from the same thematic strand The Eagle Huntress was the well-deserved winner of this year’s IFF audience award, designed by Isle of Harris-based artist Steve Dilworth.  It is a thoroughly uplifting, feel-good documentary for all ages, exploring humankind’s essential connection with Nature, the relationship between father and daughter, changing traditions, gender equality and identity, with a powerful message about realising individual potential. Set in the Altai mountains of North-western Mongolia 13 year old Aishol-pan is training to become the first female Eagle Hunter in a tradition handed down from father to son for over 2000 years. 12 generations of her Kazakh family have been Eagle Hunters; a mantle of responsibility, honour and bravery which “is not a choice” but “a calling in the blood”. One of the most touching aspects of Aishol-pan’s story is the relationship with her Father who is also her teacher and guide. As she descends on a rope to an eagle’s nest his parental fears for her safety is are palpable and when she has ascended with the 3 month old eagle chick whom she will raise, it is incredibly moving to hear her father’s comment; “it’s a beautiful bird that matches Aishol-pan”. The bond that she has with her eagle is based on reverence, care and love  and her radiant, determined character is very much the heart of the film. What we see is the proverb of “what a baby sees in the nest it repeats when it grows” in action. There is a family tradition illuminated here of equality from both her parents, a belief in a woman’s right to choose and shape her destiny and the essential equality of boys and girls. This environment and the influence of the natural world create such positive strength within Aishol-pan as a young, capable and very driven young woman. We watch her growing confidence in being loved and nurtured by her family, enabling her to overcome community elders’ opposition to her calling and equipping her to face life’s obstacles. As the Eagle Hunting festival competition approaches and when she undertakes the winter hunt to prove herself the audience is rooting for her all the way. Director of Photography Simon Niblett captures human intimacy and the breath taking expanse of the Mongolian steppes and mountain scenery in equal measure. It is an outstanding documentary which I hope that millions of young girls worldwide will have the opportunity to see. My only criticism is clumsily grafting the pop song by Sia “you can do anything” onto the film, which is unnecessary since that statement is so visibly present throughout its dramatic trajectory.

As this year’s audience award winner demonstrates, there is an appetite for the unknown and unseen which begs further development and investment. Film is a powerful communicator and we have never needed the Arts more to expand perception and connect with the world like we do today. When I look at the quantity over quality approach that seems to govern the country’s largest, most celebrated and heavily funded film festival and compare it with what this one consistently delivers on a mere fraction of the budget, IFF sets an amazingly high benchmark.  Funding/ resourcing constraints and the positioning of the Eden Court Cinema in the Arts centre venue as a whole has always meant that the festival emphasis is primarily on screenings, rather than education, discussion and debate- which is a shame because the content is so incredibly stimulating year upon year! Admittedly there’s strength in keeping the festival small, however people are drawn to cinema by communal experience and more opportunities (and time) for audience members to socialise between films, discuss what they’ve seen, participate in filmmaker Q&As, attend creative workshops, masterclasses, talks by industry professionals or academics would add to that essential dialogue, deepen the level of exposure and also increase engagement with EC’s year round independent film programme. Having attended this festival and many others around the country over the last decade, my expectations of IFF each November are always high and consistently exceeded. Thanks to the curation audiences can be assured in taking a chance on the unfamiliar; experiencing entertaining, profound and unexpected visions of the world.

www.invernessfilmfestival.com

Paul Nash

Paul Nash Nocturnal Landscape (1938, Oil paint on canvas, 76.5 x 101.5, Manchester Art Gallery ©Tate)

Paul Nash Nocturnal Landscape (1938, Oil paint on canvas, 76.5 x 101.5, Manchester Art Gallery ©Tate)

Tate Britain, 26 October 2016 – 5 March 2017

Forty one years after the last major Paul Nash exhibition, Tate Britain has brought together 160 works drawn from 60 private and public collections for this extensive, timely and fascinating retrospective.  Best known for his war art and Surrealist landscapes, this exhibition illuminates lesser known aspects of Nash’s practice including his photography, collages, 3D assemblage work using found objects, writings, poetry, print making and book illustration. It is an exciting opportunity for reappraisal and discovery of many aspects of the “unseen” in Nash’s trajectory. Literally unseen are Nash’s double sided painting; Circle of the Monoliths (1936-7, Oil on canvas) and The Two Serpents (1929, Oil on Canvas. Private Collection) which have never been exhibited and the newly discovered assemblage sculpture; Moon Aviary (1937, Cedarwood, ivory, stone, bone. 500 x 253 x 150 mm, Ernest Brown and Phillips Ltd) believed lost for over 70 years. However it is Nash’s visionary “unseen” which powerfully reveals itself throughout, highlighted by exploration of his creative process and the juxtaposition of his work with significant objects, archival materials and the work of his contemporaries. One of the best rooms in the show “The Life of the Inanimate Object” is also one of the most unexpected in terms of revealing Nash’s imaginatively fluid process, with his work seen alongside that of fellow artist Eileen Agar (1899-1991). The dialogue between them; personal and professional, the free associative techniques of collage, assemblage and liberating spirit of experimentation combine all of Nash’s passion, vision and lifelong reverence for Nature, reflecting humankind. In the context of this room the artist’s fusion of objects in the landscape and the crafting of his compositions is brought to life; making pure, unconsciously logical sense. Other dimensions also emerge beyond Nash’s individual paintings; the artist as an advocate, collaborator and spokesperson for the British and International Avant-Garde in a time of unprecedented political, social and cultural upheaval. In the “Unit 1” reconstruction room featuring works by John Armstrong, Tristram Hiller, Edward Burra, Edward Wadsworth, Ben Nicholson, John Bigge, Barabara Hepworth, Henry Moore and in the International Surrealist Exhibition of 1936 focus, we see Nash in a national and global field of reference. It is hard to imagine that generational lifespan of memory: having survived the First World War and living one year past the end of the second, experiencing the madness of one annihilating conflict, only to see the world plunge headlong into another with the rise of Fascism.  Nash’s work grapples with that psychological / cultural crisis in a unique and very British way. There is a sense of inherited tradition and emotional reserve, the simultaneous absence and presence of the figurative in Nash’s evolving way of seeing that is distinctive, insightful and progressively contained in the formal structure of his compositions.

Paul Nash, Circle of the Monoliths c.1937–8, Verso: The Two Serpents (1937-8, Oil paint on canvas, 710 x 920 mm, Private collection.)

Paul Nash, Circle of the Monoliths c.1937–8, Verso: The Two Serpents (1937-8, Oil paint on canvas, 710 x 920 mm, Private collection.)

In one of his earliest works The Combat (1910, Pencil, ink and wash. 356 x 258 mm. Victoria and Albert Museum) Nash depicts an angel with sword drawn, descended upon by a dark avian form; half bird of prey, half human against an eternal night sky. They are suspended above what feels like an immense hill, defying the actual scale of the drawing, with finely rendered lines of ink creating a minutely detailed piece of defended earth. Nash was irrepressibly drawn to Nature from a young age and for him it was imbued with living spirit. The Buckinghamshire countryside was a retreat for the family in an attempt to improve the health of his mother and as a child Nash spent time on his own and with his siblings in the nearby woods; a place of solace, play and imagination. The Combat introduces the Divine struggle between good and evil, influenced by the symbolist works of William Blake, Samuel Palmer and Pre-Raphaelite artists such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Nash’s way of seeing through Nature represents “an inward dilation of the eyes” that enabled him to perceive the “Genius Loci” or spirit of place in the landscape and also the aspirational nature of humankind reflected within and without.

In the beautiful nocturnal mindscape The Pyramids in the Sea (1912, Ink and watercolour on paper. 336 x 298 mm. Tate. Purchased 1973) Nash seamlessly transforms water to sand and sand to water in a dreamlike flow of lines, tinged deep midnight blue/ black. Rhythm and movement preside in the surging tide, governed by the moon overhead, with two man-made pyramids shadowing the swell of dune-like waves.  The Falling Stars (1912, Ink, Pencil and wash on paper, 370 x 230 mm. Private Collection) and The Three (1911-12. Ink, chalk and watercolour on paper. 393 x 279 mm. Private Collection) are equally poetic as Nash moves from symbolic illustration in his earliest drawings to a more abstract style of communicating ancient, divine presence in the landscape. In The Falling Stars Nash’s marks of foliage upon the mystical gathering of entwined trees reads like musical notation. The viewer is conscious of a human eye and mind perceiving the immensity and mystery of the natural world. In The Three a trinity of towering elders in the form of trees, their foliage and heads conjoined as if in counsel, cast long shadows over the field. The mid-level horizon line, positioning of the reimagined figurative group and a flock of birds about to wing out beyond the frame, create a sublime feeling of height, space and light which is both physical and metaphysical. The anchor, dominant presence and ancestral knowing within that space of mind are the trees, a recurrent motif in his work. For Nash the English countryside was “full of strange enchantment. On every hand it seemed a beautiful, legendary country, haunted by old Gods long forgotten”.  Like Blake’s poem Jerusalem there is an imperative in Nash’s oeuvre of reimagining and building a new world; “the mental fight” of divine creativity cast in a moral chasm between “dark satanic mills” and visions of a “green and pleasant land.”  For Nash this linked strongly to pre-Christian ways of seeing and being in the landscape. He was drawn to the human mark; to Iron Age forts and stone megaliths as objects and places of collective remembrance and to a mystical, poetic tradition in British painting, printmaking and illustration. Equally Nash was aware of contemporary developments; the work of the Vorticists, who in 1914 declared a new urban aesthetic; “The New Vortex plunges to the heart of the Present – we produce a New Living Abstraction”.  This hard edged adaptation of Cubism celebrated modernity, rejecting the over-refined poetics of past British Art. But the glory of the machine age and advancing technology also brought the horrific reality of mechanised warfare and mass killing the likes of which the world had never seen before. WWI destroyed Vorticism’s angular jubilation. By its end Western civilisation as it was known had imploded, with over 17 million dead and 20 million wounded. Nash was to produce his own form of ‘living abstraction’ in response to the age and his wartime experiences. Evolving his own visual grammar, Nash fulfilled a broader role as witness for a generation in a way that no previous official war artist had.

Enlisting as a soldier in the Artist’s Rifles in 1914 and sent to the Western Front in February 1917, a trench accident and broken ribs effectively saved Nash’s life. Whilst he was sent back to England to recover, nearly all the men in his unit were slaughtered at Passchendaele. He returned to the front as an official war artist in November 1917 and the following year created many of his best known works, moving beyond documentation of the conflict to create an unprecedented public record of warfare in terms of loss. Nash’s experiences in WWI shattered everything that had come before and in the irony of his most celebrated work We Are Making A New World (1918, Oil on canvas. 711 x 914 mm. IWM Imperial War Museums) we see a decimated landscape of body and mind; torn by shrapnel, cratered by bombs, a churning mess of mud and splintered, dead trees. The blood red sunrise casts a singular blinding eye of light over man-made devastation. The land is wounded flesh, extending to heaven;

“Sunset and sunrise are blasphemous mockeries to man,… black rain out of the bruised and swollen clouds…The rain drives on, the stinking mud becomes more evilly yellow…the black dying trees ooze with sweat and the shells never cease.”

“It is unspeakable, godless, hopeless. I am no longer an artist interested and curious. I am a messenger who will bring back word from men fighting to those who want the war to last forever. Feeble, inarticulate will be my message, but it will have a bitter truth and may it burn their lousy souls” -Paul Nash, letter to Margaret Nash, 13 November 1917.

Paintings such as The Ypres Salient at Night (1918, Oil on canvas, 714 x 920mm, IWM Imperial War Museums) depict zig zag fissures of torn earth in the trenches, an emotional geometry that enters a sky ripped apart in After the Battle (1918, watercolour and ink on paper, 598 x 733mm IWM Imperial War Museums) and many of his post war landscapes of the 1920’s and 30’s. It is both a psychological wound and a compositional device, leading the mind’s eye  powerfully and emotionally into the painting. The subterranean world of The Ypres Salient at Night is darker than natural night, lit with hues of acidic green from an overhead explosion and reducing human figures to a few huddled, fractured silhouettes. Time feels suspended in eternal  purgatory. The Menin Road (1918, oil on canvas, 1828 x 3175 mm, IWM Imperial War Mueseums) is the battlefield perceived in the cold light of day; tiny scattered figures at the centre of the painting dwarfed by  the ruin of that engulfs them on all sides, as far as the eye can see. Burned hollows of human trees, twisted metal and a foreground swamp of fathomless debris create an apocalyptic image of modern warfare and its aftermath. Oppressive cloud and shafts of light lance the sky in opposition to the agitated curvature of clouds defined and held somewhere between daylight and darkness. The “road” of the title, all of the certainties of the way ahead through life, have been obliterated, like the hopes, dreams and lives of an entire generation. Originally commissioned by the Ministry of Information for a Hall of Remembrance, there is an overwhelming inner silence in this painting which still arrests the viewer today. Although its dimensions cast it in the role and tradition of a heroic, commemorative history painting, no belief in “God, King and Country” could justify what Nash shows us through lived experience in this image.

Paul Nash. Wood on the Downs.(1930, Oil paint on canvas, 715 x 920 mm,Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums Collections. Purchased in 1960 with income from the Murray Fund.)

Paul Nash. Wood on the Downs.(1930, Oil paint on canvas, 715 x 920 mm,Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums Collections. Purchased in 1960 with income from the Murray Fund.)

In his post war work Wood on the Downs (1929, Oil on canvas, 715 x 920mm, Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums Collections) a gathering of trees and their canopies are melded into a protective front, the curvature of foliage a response to the battering of Nature’s elements. Rolling hills in the background and a white winding road give the impression of hope, but the dominant presence in this work are a huddled mass of slender trees. It is impossible not to think Nash’s lost comrades or survivor guilt when contemplating this image.  In the post war period Nash suffered a breakdown and moved with his wife to Dymchurch where he painted seascapes and the Romney Marshes. The enormity of the sea is an overwhelming force of memory for Nash, having almost drowned, and he paints it defensively, as something to be held back or contained like the memories and life experiences that threaten to drown us. In Night Tide (1922, Ink and watercolour on paper, 381 x 559mm, Private Collection c/o Robert |Travers, Piano Nobile Gallery, London) the frozen waves are sharpened into solid sculptural curves, with the seawall barrier supporting the shadow of a lone figure.  Winter Sea (1925-37, Oil on canvas 710 x 965mm, York Museums Trust-York Art Gallery) is one of Nash’s bleakest works with menacing, cruel waters resembling planes of sheet metal; a tonal highway of dirty green, brown and white leading the eye into an eternal path, with a hollowed indentation of earthen sky where the sun should be. The mood of this work feels very much like an emotional and psychological precursor to Totes Meer (Dead Sea) (1940-1, Oil paint on canvas, 1016 x 1524mm, Tate, Presented by the War Advisory Committee 1946) which expands Nash’s inner vision of Dymchurch to the whole of Western civilization. What has always affects me so deeply about this work is the transformation of Nash’s wonder into industrial wreckage; an expanse of bluish grey seemingly without end, inferring an ultimate ending. When viewing Nash’s photographs of wrecked, fallen aircraft at Cowley Dump near Oxford in 1940 the tide of materials is painfully real. Totes Meer (Dead Sea) recalls the uncanny silence of the battlefield, with the fallen wings of enemy Luftwaffe bombers visible under a waning crescent moon- or is it an eclipsed sun? Either way time in mortal terms is rendered meaningless. The twisted metal creates an oppositional current of movement and unnatural waves; a pale, barren echo of the sea transformed into a desert.

Paul Nash, Totes Meer (Dead Sea) (1940-41, Oil on canvas, support: 1016 x 1524 mm, frame: 1170 x 1680 x 97 mm. Tate. Presented by the War Artists Advisory Committee, 1946.)

Paul Nash, Totes Meer (Dead Sea) (1940-41, Oil on canvas, support: 1016 x 1524 mm, frame: 1170 x 1680 x 97 mm. Tate. Presented by the War Artists Advisory Committee, 1946.)

There is a popular misconception about Surrealism, that it represents a dreamy escape into fantasy and unconscious desires; it is however, in the best hands, highly confrontational in terms of Self, evolving out of the protest that was Dadaism. The Self isn’t just the individual as we have come to define it in 21st Century popular culture but also collective in nature. Nash writes about the “unseen” in his landscapes as a form of perceptive self-awareness, grounded in reality;

The landscapes I have in mind are no part of the unseen world in the psychic sense, nor are they part of the Unconscious. They belong to the world that lies visibly about us. They are unseen merely because they are not perceived.” -Paul Nash, ‘Unseen landscapes’ Country Life, May 1938.

During the 1920’s and 30’s Nash’s Art becomes stylistically distilled; with the introduction of found objects into his paintings, division of the picture plane to suggest shifting perception/ simultaneous viewpoints and the fusion of organic and man-made elements to create a heightened sense of Genius Loci. The De Chirico exhibition held in London in 1928 inspired Nash to explore an architecture of mind that we see evolving in still life paintings such as Token (1929-30, Oil paint on canvas, 51.4 x 61.2, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art). In this image the found object is pushed into the viewer’s foreground, suspended on an easel, positioned in the corner of a room with a telling background of referential frames. An oval plaque of figurative Classicism in the form of a featureless mother/ goddess and child recede into what feels like the interior of the wall. We read the image in relation to the love token, with the gilt frame and uprights of the easel layered behind the foreground stack of object, notebook and canvas. It is a finely balanced composition, semi Cubist in spirit, no doubt linked to the Nash’s visits to France in the 1920’s, but with a feeling of shifting perspective through time, the artist grappling with the art of painting and alternate realities within the picture plane. Similarly Opening (1930-31, Oil paint on canvas, 81.3 x 50.8mm, The Daniel Katz Family trust, London) grasps the mettle of structural composition in a series of framed thresholds. A glimpse of seascape can be seen in the distance, but it is the shifting nature of interior ways of seeing that are invoked by this work.  Poised Objects (1932, Pencil, chalk and watercolour on paper, 55.9 x 37.5, St Anne’s College, University of Oxford) also alludes to perceptive clarity through abstraction with the projecting eye like a lighthouse, guided by creative process.

In Room 6 The Life of the Inanimate Object we see Nash’s diverse use of media with objects such as driftwood, stones and bones having their own life force and entering into his compositions. With fellow artist Eileen Agar there is a sense of a symbiotic relationship; between them and in the artist beholding Nature. Agar’s collage and frottage on paper composition Philemon and Baucis (1939, 52 x 39, The Mayor Gallery, London) together with its mythology is telling in that respect. In Swanage (Graphite, watercolour and photographs, black and white on paper, 40 x 58.1, Tate. Purchased 1973) Nash’s use of collage creates a mindscape of figurative megaliths out of pieces of photographed wood and bone, pioneering his formal and visionary approach to landscape painting. We also see this in Still Life on a Car Roof (1934, Photograph, digital print on paper, printed 2016, Tate Library and Archive), an arrangement of objects juxtaposed with the surrounding environment in three dimensions, then photographed by Nash in black and white. The composition of paintings such as The Archer (1930-1937-1942, Oil on canvas) and Event on the Downs (1934, Oil paint on canvas) make total sense in the context of this room as the artist moves with ease between different media; crafting his visions fluidly through collage, photography, found objects, assemblage, drawing and painting. Although Nash’s landscapes are branded Surrealist for their unexpected juxtaposition of land, sea, objects and architecture, when seen in the context of Genius Loci, ancient human marks in the landscape and his studio practice they feel more like realism in perceptive terms. This heightened reality also has a collective element which is rather different to the 21st Century marketed image of Surrealism as a dreamy, escapist brand.

Paul Nash, Landscape from a Dream (1936-8, Oil on canvas, 679 x 1016mm, Tate, Presented by the Contemporary Art Society, 1946 ©Tate.)

Paul Nash, Landscape from a Dream (1936-8, Oil on canvas, 679 x 1016mm, Tate, Presented by the Contemporary Art Society, 1946 ©Tate.)

Nash naturally found his place in the 1936 International Surrealist Exhibition in London, which included works by Magritte, Picasso and Ernst. However the dreams he explored, not surprisingly given his wartime experiences, were grappling with the nature of the self, reality and truth. Landscape from a Dream (1936-8, Oil on canvas, 67.9 x 101.6. Tate, Presented by the Contemporary Art Society, 1946) illustrates this beautifully in the bird of prey beholding itself, overlapping frames, reflections, and the expansion of interior windows positioned in the landscape. It’s a fusion of alternate realities played out inside the conceit of a two dimensional painted surface. It contains and expands how we see as human beings- as a confrontation with our own natures, reflected in and beheld by an inner spirit of Nature. The reflection of the bird of prey stares back at the viewer, with abstraction functioning as a focal tool, unconsciously pulling a fractured world and soul back together to make sense of its darker self. It acknowledges the mystery and uncertainty of life, but also the possibility of new ways of seeing and being in the world in response to individual and collective trauma.

Towards the end of his life cycles in Nature, the marking of the seasons in the old ways; the Solstice and equinox, create a kind of repose in Nash’s work. In many ways he comes full circle and asserts his place in a long tradition of visionary and ancient land art in Britain. As his own life was ending he returned to the guiding forces of nature; sun and moon and the ritual landscape. In Solstice of the Sunflower (1945, Oil paint on canvas, 71.3 x 91.4, National Gallery of Canada, Ottowa, Gift of the Massey Collection of English painting 1952) Nash aligns the path of the sun with the flaming fire wheel of the sunflower and the ancient pagan practice of rolling burning bales. In its companion piece Eclipse of the Sunflower (1945, Oil paint on canvas, 71.1 x 91.4, British Council Collection) a different aspect is invoked in the decaying foreground sunflower and its eclipsed light above that still extends like a halo of hope around the soul and the world. In 1943 Nash discovered Scottish anthropologist James Frazer’s comparative study of mythology and religion The Golden Bough, which in many ways validated Nash’s lifelong felt sense of the landscape. The end of WWII in 1945 and Nash’s declining health also inform these final summations of life, Nature and the human condition. He presents us here in 2016 with a vision of humanity relative to Nature, in full knowledge of our capacity for annihilation and for the creative, aspirational light of renewal. Nash’s greatest legacy is remembrance, of the fallen in wartime certainly, but also in the movement of the seasons and ancient human marks on the land that still speak to us if we only stop and listen. In the end, as Nash’s work illuminates, creativity is the only thing that saves us.

www.tate.org.uk

Bedlam: the asylum and beyond

Jane Fradgley "Within", (2012)© the artist.

Jane Fradgley “Within”, (2012) © the artist.

Wellcome Collection, London

15 September 2016 – 15 January 2017

“Bedlam” is such an intensely loaded word in the collective imagination, beyond the institution of Bethlem Royal Hospital, that it is hard to dispel images of Gothic Horror, cruelty, chaos and spectacle from the mind in relation to it. Having become “a mythical domain of the mad” to those outside its walls, embedded in centuries of folklore, song, visual art, film, literature and colloquial language, the expectations of visitors to this exhibition presents something of a curatorial challenge. Defying preconceptions, potent mythologies and ancient fears, this is a show where lived experience of mental illness, provides much needed insights, enabling individual voices to be seen, heard and felt. The history of asylums and treatment of mental illness worldwide holds a mirror up to society, reflecting our laws, dominant beliefs and projected fears. It isn’t naturally comfortable territory confronting that which we do not fully understand, within ourselves or in others. With history held at a safe distance, every generation believes itself to be more enlightened than the last, advancing scientific knowledge and technology, mapping the mind and penetrating deeper into its mysteries. In many ways Art and Science are united in their innate curiosity and desire to address the eternal why of what we are as human beings. What drew me to this Wellcome Collection exhibition was the possibility of what it does best as a culturally vibrant and engaging space; creating intersections between “Medicine, Art and Culture”, generating discussion, debate and essential unanswerable questions; in this case about the nature of mental illness and the concept of the asylum- an equally loaded word in contemporary society.

The tension between “protection and restraint”, the interests of the individual and the community they belong to (or are excluded from) are ever present, rooted in the subject and history of Bethlem Hospital. “Is mental illness – or madness – at root an illness of the body, a disease of the mind, or a sickness of the soul? Should those who suffer from it be secluded from society or integrated more fully into it?” Individually and collectively what does “well-being” look like in an actual or visionary sense? Co-curated by Bárbara Rodríguez Muñoz and Mike Jay Bedlam: the asylum and beyond explores these questions in the juxtaposition of over 150 objects, archival documents, photographs, films, sculpture, drawings and paintings, including historical works by William Hogarth, Adolf Wölfli, Vaslav Nijinsky, Richard Daddand work by contemporary artists; Eva Kot’átková, Shana Moulton, Javier Tellez, Jane Fradgley, Dora Garcia, David Beales and Erica Scourti. What is inspiring about this exhibition is the enduring power of creativity; enabling protest, understanding, reappraisal and the possibility of positive change.  There is a resounding sense of shared humanity, resilience, and irrepressible spirit in the content of the show; in the ways that underlying questions about how we perceive, define and treat mental illness are illuminated by individual artists, writers, scientists, philosophers and participants. Reflections are consistently thrown back to the viewer; about our capacity to provide “care, refuge and sanctuary” in the age we now live in and within ourselves.

Engraving of exterior of the hospital at Moorfields. c.1900-07 c Bethlem Museum of the Mind, Wellcome Collection.

Engraving of exterior of the hospital at Moorfields. c.1900-07 c Bethlem Museum of the Mind, Wellcome Collection.

It is sobering to consider the many lives diminished or destroyed by successive ages of dominant beliefs and institutional policies; voices lost or wilfully silenced in the societal microcosm of the asylum. In this context the refrain of “our voices will rise” from Those shuffling feet from the past (3.25 min spoken word audio) by Frank Bangay is particularly poignant and powerful in its advocacy. Part of the Our Voices audio companion to the exhibition; a collaboration between Wellcome Collection, members of Core Arts and artist Jessica Marlowe, this direct communication of lived experience informs how the viewer interprets the objects on display. These interviews and testimonials introduce audiences to experiences that may be unfamiliar to them; of locked confinement, altered states of being, encounters with Psychiatry, the responses of loved ones and the effects of medication with honesty, dignity and humour. The immediacy of these voices add layers of interpretation, touching on objects in the exhibition across time and creating very direct connections with the viewer/ listener. As a result we are unable to relegate mental distress outside ourselves as “other” or to the past, because the voices, memories and associations they generate are within our own heads, experienced in real time.  In this regard sound is a particularly potent trigger. As I listened to Steve McCann’s recollection; Introduction to Psychiatry 1974 (3:45mins) punctuated by a seemingly distant, echoing turntable rendition of “You with the stars in your eyes” the intense personal memory of the speaker fused with the universal experience of being taken back to significant, defining moments in the past through a song, smell or bodily sensation. Whether the lived experience is one shared by the listener or not, the mode of communication is directly relatable. When a memory is retold in such a spirit of openness, it is impossible not to respond in kind; establishing, in a small way, the kind of relationship between the speaker and listener that is also the foundation of talking therapy. With headphones on, the viewer is stilled and imaginatively present in the moment of recollection. The experience reminded me of Carl Rogers’ trinity of core conditions or attitudes that create a therapeutic environment:  unconditional positive regard, congruence and empathy. Opportunities for this type of reflection within the exhibition are important in a addressing the negative branding, social stigma and isolation of mental illness which endures to this day, particularly in the context of a digital age so lacking in the cultivation of empathy.  One of the enlarged self-help cards in Erica Scourti’s Empathy Deck sculptural installation accurately declares; “Empathy is the great connector of humanity. It’s either there or it isn’t and right now it isn’t.” Another dimension of this work is Scourti’s twitterbot that responds to tweets with unique digital cards; an automated form of divination, self-help and reflection. In our current post-asylum age of dualistic connectivity and alienation via the internet and social media, the “automation of empathy, friendship and care” “replacing (actual human contact and face to face) services” is an ongoing concern. In a hugely expanded “marketplace of treatment, medication” and “often inaccessible” “support options”, the exhibition “interrogates and reclaims the idea of the asylum as a place of sanctuary and care.”

Erica Scourti, "Empathy Deck", 2016. Courtesy of the Artist. Commissioned by Wellcome Collection.

Erica Scourti, “Empathy Deck”, 2016. Courtesy of the Artist. Commissioned by Wellcome Collection.

One of the most affecting interrogative statements in the exhibition is a series of samplers in linen, cloth and thread made by Mary Frances Heaton (Unknown- 1878). Heaton was a music teacher admitted to Wakefield Asylum in 1837 with “epilepsy and delusions of an affair with Lord Seymour”, her employer. She remained imprisoned there for 36 years, her spirit sewn into every stitch she made; defiant marks on the fabric of a society where class and gender kept her in branded confinement. Her sewn and measured words of protest against her incarceration reach across time, expressing heart breaking loss of love and liberty; “In its blackest, most heart sickening, most confirmed, most important, most unequivocal and most extraordinary form- whereby the world is reduced to a blank and the brevity of human life is the only consolation the heart can ever know…” Reflecting on Heaton’s circumstances and pleas for assistance (which never came) including an appeal to her female sovereign, brings profound sadness, but her words -which could so easily have been destroyed remain and as long as they do she will never be silent. Perhaps surprisingly my overwhelming response to Heaton’s embroidery was hope, because standing in front of those framed, stitched documents of self-defence and preservation, there is the opportunity for the viewer to become a witness and advocate. Ironically the words of Thomas Tryon over two centuries earlier aptly describe Heaton’s world as “a great Bedlam where those that are more mad lock up those who are less”. Even today being “not of sound mind”, “insane”, “normal” or “abnormal” is a matter of perspective, social norms, medical diagnosis and the law, all of which are subject to human ethics and judgements in a particular time and place. The moral question of care remains a contentious issue, reflected in the architecture, language of treatment and successive models of reform. In Roger L’Strange’s proclamation of “Bethlehem’s (Bedlam Hospital’s) beauty, London’s Charity and the Cities glory” (Sept 16, 1676) there’s the inference of how civilized, moral or compassionate we actually are (or not), based upon the design of built environments and institutional care. Three distinct ages in Bedlam’s history; 18th Century “Madhouse”, 19th Century “Lunatic Asylum” and 20th Century “Mental Hospital”, extending into the 21st Century space “Beyond the Asylum”, are represented in the exhibition, charting prevailing attitudes. The 1810-1811 design of patient James Tilly Mathews which won a competition for the rebuilding of Bedlam included a kitchen garden and extensive notes linking the architecture and grounds to patient routines. This lived perspective, considering the conditions necessary for mental well-being and potential recovery, find their contemporary equivalent in The Vacuum Cleaner and Hannah Hull’s Madlove: A Designer Asylum.  This  “collaborative project with designers Benjamin Koslowski and James Christian, illustrator Rosie Cunningham, and over 300 people with lived experience of mental distress” revisits and reimagines “the asylum as ‘a safe place to go mad’“, asking the question; “ What does good mental health look, smell, taste, sound and feel like? The display includes a dialogue of process, scaled model of the ideal asylum and individual responses to what “the perfect day in an asylum might be”. Associatively the question is brought back to the viewer; What makes you feel good and gives you comfort? What is mental wellbeing for you? There were many relatable responses, like Wesman’s “visit the kitten room” –just the thought of such a place made me smile! Interestingly contact with Nature was a significant part of wellness in participant’s model asylums. The visitor activity of the pocket Asylum is also part of this collaborative work and another element to be taken away, perhaps to be rediscovered by chance or need in a wallet, handbag, desk or coat pocket. Making sense of our own perceptions and responses to mental illness when we encounter or experience it, in the relative safety of the exhibition space or in everyday life, involves significant shifts in perception, self-awareness and deeper levels of empathy.

"Madlove Designer Asylum." (2016) Rosemary Cunningham’s illustration of James Christian and Benjamin Koslowski's Madlove-designs,. Wellcome Collection.

“Madlove Designer Asylum.” (2016) Rosemary Cunningham’s illustration of James Christian and Benjamin Koslowski’s Madlove designs. Wellcome Collection.

Although Eva Kot’átková’s large installation, Asylum, (Mixed media, 2014) presents the viewer with a seemingly disarming “chaotic archive of inner visions” it becomes transformative as you move around it, bringing the viewer into contact with something more intimately human; the “psychological and physical effects of restraint”. Based on the artist’s research visits to the Bohnice Psychiatric Hospital in Prague, the subdued lighting creates a quiet, contemplative atmosphere encouraging focus on clusters of found objects, text, collage, assemblage and metal sculptures that emerge out of the large central table/ plinth.  Like a black matt of unconscious, elevated ground, associations, memories and experiences expand and contract in the same way that states of mind alter perception. Metal bars are a recurrent trope in a largely monochrome three dimensional palette, animated by moments of warmth and muted colour. It’s a shadow world of the self, an exploration of the head expanding into the dimensions of a “house, palace” and “castle”, then shrinking into solitary confinement by shifting perceptive states. The body becomes visually fragmented; the head as a metal cage, mouth open like a doorway with steps leading up into it, heads bound in wire or defined by metal bars and the single mute line of a mouth. A collage bisects an abstracted cranial orb into positive and negative space, separated and simultaneously aligned. There are eyes with bars across, a heavily protective wall with eye holes and figurative assemblages with individual features cut away or eyes taped shut.  The visual language and techniques are those of Dada and Surrealist Art; of protest, dreams and alternative realities, but instead of flights of imagination or desire, this archeologically excavated collective subconscious is bound in restraint. There’s poignancy in turning that associative visual grammar of freedom back in on itself, communicating a very anchored sense of how mental illness affects human beings. This work could be seen in terms of desolation- but it is also a window to lived experience, with scraps of text illuminating how the mind creates protective barriers and hiding places within.

Eva Kot’átková "Asylum" (2013) Installation view at Kunsthalle Baden Baden 2014 Courtesy of Meyer Riegger Berlin Karlsruhe and Hunt Kastner Prague.

Eva Kot’átková “Asylum” (2013) Installation view at Kunsthalle Baden Baden 2014 Courtesy of Meyer Riegger Berlin Karlsruhe and Hunt Kastner Prague.

Kot’átková repeatedly presents the body and mind as a vessel, symbolised by ancient clay jars, vases or a coiled labyrinth juxtaposed with the organic internal structures of shells grafted onto the human body; forms drawn from Nature’s design. There’s a sense of the base elements of human beings; in the presence of primitive masks, birds, bats, monkeys and in the physicality of abstracted bare metal backbone and simple figurative forms on the table, stripping back human beings to the nervous system and our attendant “fears, anxieties and phobias”. Unexpectedly it is not a bleak, fixed vision but an imaginatively fluid one which I found myself returning to several times. Moving around the perimeters of the room, drawn in by the relationships between different elements that surface, emerge and are then lost from one moment to the next mirrors life’s experience. As a result there’s a sense of fragility and vulnerability on display, together with the harsh realities of confinement and restraint within and without as part of the human condition. It’s a play of shadows that confronts what we all are; collections of memories, artefacts and visions.

"The Rakes Progress" Plate 8 Scene from Bedlam with Britannia, William Hogarth 1763 c Trustees of the British Museum.

“The Rakes Progress”- Plate 8 Scene from Bedlam with Britannia, William Hogarth 1763 c Trustees of the British Museum.

Projected onto the wall in the left hand corner of this first room is a 1925 16mm film transferred to digital; the Procession of St Dymphna from the community of Geel in Belgium. This illumination returns the viewer to the origins of the asylum as a place of sanctity and refuge linked to religious belief, sacred duty and pastoral care. Since the 13th Century a tradition of care in the community, with those affected by mental illness boarding with the residents of the town and becoming integrated in everyday activities, has become a model but also a collective vocation. Within the legend of St Dymphna, patron saint of mental illness and emotional distress, there is suffering and trauma based on cruel circumstance; her Father’s madness and incestuous delusions which cause her to flee her home in Ireland, seeking safety and asylum in Flanders.  Flight to this previously unknown territory has a parallel in “the mind coping with the unbearable” by reimagining the world within and without. Founded by Alderman Simon Fitzmary after his pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1247, Bethlehem Hospital’s origins, like those of the community in Geel have a moral and spiritual root. Similarly the York Retreat, established in 1792 by William Tuke and the Society of Friends (Quakers), was founded on a belief in compassion for fellow human beings, providing a therapeutic framework for social integration, healing and well- being; not just for the individual but in a wider cultural and spiritual context. This vision of care and responsibility is starkly contrasted with images of the asylum such as   Hogarth’s 1763 engraving; Plate 8 A Scene from Bedlam  from his series A Rake’s Progress where he cements the Britannia coin into the wall turning critical focus back on British Society as a Bedlam. The central protagonist Tom has lost everything, his fortune, liberty and his mind. His steep descent; the result of vanity, greed, excess and the latter stages of syphilis, presents a moral, cautionary tale; his body and mind mirroring the health of the nation. Hogarth’s biting satirical vision of class, hypocrisy and deprivation is presented like a cinematic storyboard or play. Tom’s fortunes have progressively turned; the class he was part of now mocks him, seen in the well-dressed lady and her maid in the background visiting the asylum for amusement. He is oblivious to the love that has stood beside him in every frame, the figure of Sarah who still cares for him in spite of his now desperate circumstances. In the context of this exhibition Hogarth’s image of Bedlam takes on a different meaning over and above the 18th Century moral judgement of its protagonist.  Wealth and position are meaningless in the face of human suffering and mental distress; any one of us can be made destitute, regardless of who we are or the circumstances we were born into. The illustration isn’t a vision of Gothic Horror even though it is an earthly vision of hell. This quality can also be seen in the 1814 Broadsheet etching by George Cruikshank of “James Norris, (misnamed as William) chained to the wall by his neck for ten years”. The emphasis is on the calm and subdued resignation on Norris’s face, rather than tabloid caricature. The insanity portrayed in this image is the society that treats human beings in such a way, akin to slavery. It is an early Nineteenth Century public call for reform, highlighting institutionalised neglect and collective responsibility.

Vincent Van Gogh, "LHomme à la pipe"1890 c Trustees of the British Museum.

Vincent Van Gogh, “LHomme à la pipe”1890 c Trustees of the British Museum.

Turning the tables on visions of madness, Vincent Van Gogh’s etched portrait of Dr Gachet; L’Homme à la Pipe (1890) accompanied by the artist’s observation; “ He’s very nervous and very bizarre himself” brought a smile to my face in its defiance of the Romantic myth of the mad genius artist. Equally the dignity and clarity of Richard Dadd’s portrait of his psychiatrist; Sir Alexander Morison 1779-1866, Alienist (1852, Oil on canvas, National Galleries of Scotland) is an arresting example of one human being beholding another. It is also the doctor seen through the eyes of his patient. Morison holds his top hat before him in salutation to the artist/ viewer, with no power differential elevating the subject. It is an image of an aged, vulnerable man, rendered with Dadd’s characteristic care and minute attention to detail. Morison’s gently furrowed brow and steadfast gaze meets our own as equal. He stands before his estate, a book and white cloth in his other hand, lines of cloud drifting in an uncanny state of natural order in the pale blue sky above. His grey suit, dishevelled hair and kindly mouth, ever so slightly raised at the corners, convey the stature of a friend or fellow patient, rather than an eminent psychiatrist treating the afflicted. It is a highly empathic image, depicting the regard of one human being for another, regardless of class, condition or circumstance. It is also an intensely moving work in the understated positioning of the figure and the way that compassion is engendered in the heart and mind of the viewer as our eyes meet Morison’s.

Richard Dadd "Sir-Alexander Morison,1779-1866. Alienist", courtesy of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery.

Richard Dadd “Sir-Alexander Morison,1779-1866. Alienist”, courtesy of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery.

Henry Hering’s photographic portrait of Richard Dadd in Bethlem at work on his painting Contradiction (1857) also turns the tables of expectation, presenting the image of a professional artist before his easel, rather than an afflicted patient. This is very much in keeping with the desire for progressive reform and cure, seen in Hering’s “before and after” photographs of individual patients on their admission and release from Bethlem Hospital. Richard Dadd’s fastidious, obsessively detailed paintings of fairy folk are well known, but here he conveys a very grounded sense of recognition in the portrait of his doctor, appealing to the contemporary viewer as an enduringly humane presence.

Henry Hering, "Richard Dadd at his easel" (1857)courtesy of Bethlem Museum of the Mind.

Henry Hering, “Richard Dadd at his easel” (1857) courtesy of Bethlem Museum of the Mind.

Film has a very interesting interpretative and documentary function in the exhibition, investigating the blurred lines between clinical and art practice. Co-directed by Pia Borg and Edward Lawrenson, Abandoned Goods (2014 , 35mm, S16mm, HD) is a visual essay  exploring “one of Britain’s major collections of Asylum Art containing about 5,500 objects (paintings, drawings, ceramics, sculptures and works on stone, flint and bone) created between 1946 and 1981, by about 140 people compelled to live in the Netherne psychiatric hospital in South London.”  Commissioned by the Wellcome Trust and the Maudsley Charity the film combines archive, 35mm rostrum, and observational photography exploring the ambiguities between clinical material, art therapy and revered art objects in their journey from asylum to gallery. “Outsider Art” has always been a contentious label with the language, exhibition space and market often framing the identity or intentionality of the artist in terms of freakish novelty. The film’s title “Abandoned Goods” is extremely apt in human terms as until it is commodified such art is usually hidden. Borg and Lawrenson’s visual essay highlights individual voices, opening up debate about collections of creative work made in a therapeutic context and asserting the validity of human expression in all its forms.

Javier Tellez "Caligari and the Sleepwalker" (2008) c the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann.

Javier Tellez “Caligari and the Sleepwalker” (2008) c the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann.

Javier Tellez’s reimagining of Robert Weine’s Silent Expressionist Classic The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (1920); Caligari und der Schlafwandler / Caligari and the Sleepwalker (2008, Super 16mm transferred to video, 27:07 mins) is a fascinating exploration of categorisations of “normal” and “abnormal”, using patients as actors, participants, commentators and witnesses. The ethical considerations in making such a film are considerable and made it an uncomfortable watch at times; even though interviews with the actors anchored the director’s overall aesthetic in the language of documentary. The lines between who are the artists/ filmmakers/ actors and who are the institutionalised patients/participants are deliberately blurred. Tellez plays on multiple levels with the translation of the German word for mad; meaning “shifted, not where it is meant to be,” suggesting a spectrum rather than a polarised judgement about “normal” or “abnormal”, sane or insane. The clinical function of creativity vs the cinematic tradition of the director as auteur creates a certain tension. Crafted in the chiaroscuro of the original, with the sleepwalker Cesare recast as an Alien, who reveals that our planet is an illusion and the intergalactic territory we strive towards (his alien star) is a psychiatric hospital. Sound dialogue is delivered via blackboard German into (English) subtitles, an interesting twist on the silent tradition of explanatory intertitles. The blackboard is simultaneously a barrier to direct communication and a tool for dialogue,  learning and teaching. Tellez picks up on the original film’s conclusive reveal; where the Doctor as a figure of authority and state is actually the straightjacketed patient, a reflection of Germany during the Weimar period and the rise of madness that was Nazism. Whilst elements of the film are playful, feeling semi-improvised and experimental, the historicised visuals of Caligari and the Sleepwalker also create a retrospective feeling of unease, with thoughts about the actual fate of the film’s collaborators had it been made in the 1920’s as opposed to 2008 shifting perception. It is however, a film of light over darkness; “How do you perceive the world around you?” Cesare the sleepwalker/ alien answers; “Through love.”

Javier Tellez "Shering Chess" (2015) Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich.

Javier Tellez “Shering Chess” (2015) Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich.

The sculptural installation Schering Chess (2015, Mixed media) by Javier Tellez also embraces provocative ambiguity in a static game where the chess pieces are reproductions of Pre- Columbian figures used by the pharmaceutical company Schering to advertise its treatments during the early 1970’s. Figures representing different mental illnesses, labelled with the corresponding Schering treatment are displayed on a board resembling hospital lino with the pawn pieces taking the form of fragile eggs. The oppositional chess pieces, one side comprised of red earth, the other rendered in pristinely artificial, manufactured white are held in a display case, facing each other off in a controlled environment.

As with many Wellcome exhibitions Bedlam: the asylum and beyond is accompanied by an enviable programme of cross disciplinary special events, an extended exhibition catalogue in Mike Jay’s publication This Way Madness Lies- The asylum and Beyond (Thames and Hudson) and a parallel exhibition curated by Sam Curtis, ‘Reclaiming Asylum’, being held at the Bethlem Gallery, from 21 September– 11 November 2016. Although for many people the subject of mental illness remains overwhelmingly dark, this exhibition shifts the emphasis away from the idea of affliction to acceptance and optimism through shared human insight. In consequence the overall tone of the exhibition is resoundingly hopeful. Again I am reminded of Maslow’s pyramid and Carl Rogers’ concept of self-actualisation projected into the wider sphere of society; “When I look at the world I’m pessimistic, but when I look at people I am optimistic.” What this exhibition celebrates is the natural tendency of human beings to strive towards light and understanding through creativity, even in the most extreme circumstances of trauma and distress.

www.wellcomecollection.org

Scottish artists inspired by the sea

Joyce W Cairns "Farewell To Footdee" (Oil on panel 122cm x 183cm)

Joyce W Cairns “Farewell To Footdee” (Oil on panel 122cm x 183cm)

The Sea- Scottish artists inspired by the sea

17 September – 29 October, Kilmorack Gallery, by Beauly.

Kilmorack Gallery’s latest exhibition features work by some of Scotland’s finest artists inspired by the convergence of land, sea and memory. Forces of Nature and mind are powerfully brought together in an exciting show including work by; Joyce W Cairns , Steve Dilworth, Kate Downie, Lotte Glob, Marian Leven, Will Maclean, Allan MacDonald,  James Newton Adams, Mary Bourne, Ruth Brownlee, Helen Denerley, , Gail Harvey, Janette Kerr, Sian MacQueen, Lynn McGregor, Illona Morrice and Beth Robertson-Fiddes.

On entering the gallery Lotte Glob’s large ceramic tile seascapes; Seascape, Seascape – Tidal and Seascape Stormy Sea, unleash an incredible intensity of colour in a molten fusion of elemental forces and raw materials. Brilliant ultramarine and turquoise create a feeling of depth that the viewer cannot help but dive into. In Seascape-Stormy Sea, water, earth, air and fire meet, unite and divide; cracking and separating like a microcosm of the earth’s geological record. There’s a sense of mindful physicality in this artist’s work based on being in the landscape in the most expansive sense possible. This is combined with a lifetime’s understanding of Craft, unsurpassed in her chosen discipline. Along the coastline of the UNESCO Northern Highlands Geopark that the artist calls home, the ancient Lewisian Gneiss rock, 3,000 million years old, meets the full force of the Atlantic Ocean. Shore, land and mountain are a rich source of found materials, transformed by fire in Glob’s masterful ceramics.  The strength, beauty and delicacy in her work is visibly distilled in Flower of the Sea; a living being of fired clay; anemone-like fingers extended around blooms of glassy blue/ green rock pools, tempered with the hue of a subsiding tide of red kelp. In Rock Flower, an outcrop of white clay blooms emerge from what feels like a monumental cliff face, a fused piece of immovable white stone balanced on top of the sculpted clay in counterpoint with the pale, mortal transience of flowers. The handling of materials and form is supremely sensitive and a celebration of an artist at the top of her profession. Reef is another superb example, a rocky outcrop emerging from a disc of ocean which feels like the entire globe; minerals and pigments ebb and flow to the edges of the ceramic, into the deepest sea of mind, time and space imaginable. Another signature piece is Secret Pool; a sphere resembling a meteorite flung from space, which when opened reveals an interior teaming life forms, shoreline colour and vivid joy. Lotte Glob’s responses to her environment are pure and instinctual; her spirit is as adventurous as the experimentation in her Art and in walking the landscape she has come to understand Nature and human connectivity with the environment in ways that never fail to inspire. She’s an artist who always makes me smile for the wisdom, vitality and sheer energy of her practice, intimately connected to the Northwest land, sky and sea from which she is inseparable.

Lotte Glob " Flower of the Sea" (Ceramic)

Lotte Glob ” Flower of the Sea” (Ceramic)

One of the most moving works in the exhibition is Farewell to Footdee (Oil on panel 122cm x 183cm) by Scotland’s most significant figurative artist, Joyce. W. Cairns. In many ways the painting is an act of commemoration and remembrance, a strikingly poignant composition of memories which make a life. In frozen white, blue greyness, articulated by the pure warmth of cadmium /vermillion a masterful sense of composition emerges, in the structural diagonal and vertical uprights of the washing line, refracted light on the icy ground and the emotive placement of the human figure. As with all of Cairns’ work we are pushed psychologically to the edge of the frame and beyond it; by design, the distilled palette, the interior positioning of the figures and by the artist’s innate sensitivity. The acute subtlety of winter light upon the rooftops and gently nuanced expression on the face of the foreground female protagonist portrays a moment of vulnerability and sadness at the end of an era. The painting also acknowledges profound loss; of those who have passed, phases of life and aspects of self. Around the foreground protagonist’s neck is a medal of honour, engraved; “Footdee 1979-2014”, marking the artist’s departure for Tayside and a new chapter in the battle of a creative life. I always try to refrain from purely autobiographical readings of this artist’s paintings, because my sense of her work is that like all Great Artists she always transcends herself. It is true that most of Cairns’ female figures physically resemble the artist and that many of her paintings respond to life in the old fishing village of Footdee and the port of Aberdeen, past memories and familial experiences, but equally her field of reference is more widely European in painterly terms and in subject matter.  In her extraordinary body of work; War Tourist, Cairns certainly begins the journey re-tracing her Father’s steps through WWII Europe, but the visual statement that emerged out of this research over the following decade crosses all borders into contemporary conflict, the nature of war and the eternal human condition. There are few artists that share her command of large scale figurative composition, save German Expressionists like Beckmann and Grosz.  It’s the emotional gravitas and conscience in her work that is immediately and monumentally striking. Look closer and the balance of elements in her compositions are breath taking; a perfect synthesis of instinct, control, ideas and technique. Cairns’ familial memories are ever clothed in wartime dress, like the younger sister in red beret, gloves and shoes, who looks on in the mid-ground as the foreground Self departs the scene. However Farewell to Footdee is more than an image of individual/ autobiographical commemoration, remembrance or grief. The head and shoulders of the central female protagonist connects powerfully with the viewer’s space and the sense of loss we all feel when we leave part of ourselves behind in the places we have lived and in the people we have loved. Her tilted hat, crowned with a white boarded cottage whose chimney almost transforms it into a house of worship, carries emotional weight; like the posture of the tiny female figure leaned within the doorway, head downcast and hands in pockets. Time collapses into the line of cottages that frame an inner courtyard of the soul; the yellow warmth of light from open doorways in the background illuminating scenes of romance, isolation and loneliness re-enacted in the farewell.  It is impossible to see this painting and not be affected by its raw, profound emotional stillness or by the artist’s consummate skill.

Joyce W Cairns "Messerschmitt Over Footdee" (Oil on ply, 152cm x 122cm)

Joyce W Cairns “Messerschmitt Over Footdee” (Oil on ply, 152cm x 122cm)

In Messerschmitt Over Footdee (Oil on ply, 152cm x 122cm) Cairns assumes the role of an ARP (Air- raid Precaution) warden. Pushed into the foreground she is flanked by WWII ephemera; Lucky Strike cigarettes, anti-gas ointment and a gas attack leaflet arrangement of museum pieces.  The phosphorescent glow of the sea merges with the sky in the heightened perspective of the composition. The illuminating presence and bisecting geometry of searchlights, lighthouses, washing lines and the boundaries of the safe harbour are invaded by an enemy bomber. Again the central protagonist is positioned in the foreground, standing in the viewer’s space as witness, clutching a wreath of poppies to her chest.  Out of a first floor window a woman waves a union jack, whilst below a naked female figure emerges from an illuminated doorway. The idea of “keeping the home fires burning” and the anxiety of war on the domestic front can be seen in the pallor of her expression, articulated by the memories , stories and artefacts gathered by the artist, assimilated within her psyche as part of the War Tourist retrospective body of work.

Steve Dilworth "Throwing Object" (Burr elm, wren and bronze)

Steve Dilworth “Throwing Object” (Burr elm, wren and bronze)

A series of hand held objects by Isle of Harris based artist Steve Dilworth provide a very tactile experience of forms, materials and energy drawn directly from land and seascape.  Throwing Object (Burr elm, wren and bronze) transforms the viewer into a participant in its natural beauty and crafted allure. The organic form of honey coloured elm feels like it has been freed by the hand of the artist and the touch of the visitor, with the worn glow of patina we might see in an ancient church pew, smoothed by generation after generation. With carved hollows for the fingers it is designed to be held and has a visceral, irresistible, gravitational pull. Once held it feels comforting as the object’s centre of gravity aligns with your own, like a divining rod for the soul. This piece containing a small bird and held together by bronze fits comfortably in two hands as an object of contemplation or in the violent trajectory of one, it becomes a superbly balanced to “psychic weapon” of protection. The aged wood, once living bird and a metal, comprised mostly of conductive copper, create a unique flight path of intentionality and energy. The form feels organic but also like a human artefact and its gravitas can be felt in the ambiguity of its potential use. It is weighted in the interchange of crafting its two halves; for defensive action on the one hand, or meditative thought on the other; tendencies for creation or destruction which are both equally generated in moments of connection between Mother Nature and our own nature(s) as human beings. All of these associations flow from the intimacy, duality and ambiguity of an object which is not sculptural or a visual art in the traditional sense, but connecting with something deep, subconscious and essentially primal through the universal language of touch and collective memory.

Steve Dilworth "Deep Water" Water (Harris Stone, seabed water and whale bone, 10cm high x 17cm x 12.5cm )

Steve Dilworth “Deep Water” Water (Harris Stone, seabed water and whale bone, 10cm high x 17cm x 12.5cm )

This timeless quality can also be found in Deep Water (Harris Stone, seabed water and whale bone, 10cm high x 17cm x 12.5cm ) a drogue form of high contrast dark and light , grounded in the weight of solid stone and the depth of the emotionally conductive element held within it. Its hollows are curiously orbital and the delicate ridged line on top echoes a natural curve ending at the base of a skull, or the sleek skinned form of a sea mammal. The combination of water from the seabed off Rona, whale bone and Harris stone is inspired, with flecks of metallic starlight made visible by shaping and polishing. Seal Oil Stone (Harris stone, beach stone, copper, seal oil, 11cm high x 20cm x 18cm)  also illuminates the value held within in the vial of seal oil which glints like precious gold, encased in the hollowed interior of a large beach pebble, eroded by waves, and coils of conductive copper. The speckled surface of the stone, green oxidisation of the copper and glimpse of the object’s interior through a birth canal-like opening gives this work the feeling of a newly discovered ancient fertility object, borne of the sea.  The instinctive combination and alignment of materials which has its own dynamic flow in the artist’s studio, translates directly to the viewer through the nervous system. The form of the object is rich with associative triggers for the imagination and in this way, as with all of this artist’s work, the visitor/ participant completes the object.

The pure energy of liquiform water and solid stone is distilled in Wave ( Harris Stone, 18cm high x 20cm x 9cm) an incredibly compact curvature that seems to encompass the lunar origins of tides and the dynamism of a concentrated form turning in on itself. The natural qualities of Harris stone become flecks of salt spray in shifting seams of green, while the precarious power of a crashing wave is folded into stone. The material is transformed by the idea, energy and presence of Nature. The thinned spine of the object and its asymmetrical base playfully pivot the deceptively simple core form in a singular moment of recognition, preserved for all time.  On closer inspection the convergence of convex and concave facets reveal themselves as the light and the viewer’s position changes. The edges are shaped with characteristic precision, sharpened to the touch and the sense of dynamic movement is extremely powerful, vastly exceeding the physical dimensions of the object.

Will Maclean Voyage of the James Caird- Elephant Island (Painted wood and resin, 82 x 72 cm).

Will Maclean Voyage of the James Caird- Elephant Island (Painted wood and resin, 82 x 72 cm).

The expansive mindscape of the ocean is the subject of Will Maclean’s Winter North Atlantic (Painted wood and resin, 124cm x 105cm x 5cm) and a fine example of his work. (Reviewed previously as part of the Fiaradh gu’n Iar: Veering Westerly exhibition, IMAG, georginacoburnarts Blogpost 09/03/16.) Maclean’s exploration below the surface is realised with great subtlety in the abstract box composition Voyage of the James Caird- Elephant Island (Painted wood and resin, 82 x 72 cm).  Here the layered surface evokes the monumentality of a frozen wilderness, inscribed with human/ drawn marks of circular navigation and weighted plumb lines.  To the right a small rectangular cutaway reveals a line of swell and landscaped horizon conveying an emotional sense of movement within the expanse of the extreme Southern Ocean. The ice flow palette, which moves and melts before the eyes, encompasses a God’s-eye view and an interior window perspective penetrating the surface of the painting/ box construction.  It is a perfectly balanced abstract of painted, drawn and constructed elements referencing history and the spirit of human exploration. The journey made by Shackleton and his companions in the small boat the “James Caird” from Elephant Island in the South Shetland Islands to South Georgia in the Southern Ocean was a feat of courage and persistence. Maclean’s rendering conveys a state of mind and human vulnerability in relation to the environment, in the face of Nature at her most unforgiving. He achieves this in the drawn/ incised marks of a human hand and in the use of found materials, recovered debris from generational tides of human experience. In the presence of such a work we are brought face to face with the human scale of all our endeavours.

Kate Downie "The America Ship" (acrylic and ink on canvas, 167cm x 160cm)

Kate Downie “The America Ship” (acrylic and ink on canvas, 167cm x 160cm)

Kate Downie’s The America Ship (acrylic and ink on canvas, 167cm x 160cm) is a wonderful exploration of human and natural elements framed by the skewed perspective of a small boat enduring a swell. In an interior lounge space two figures sit apart from each other, staring out into an absorbing grey sea of their own thoughts. On the coffee table between them; a precariously poised model of a ship balances upon an elongated shadow of deepest blue. The coastline spills into the room and Downie’s ink drawn marks are fast, bold and gestural, rendering the figures with dynamic stillness. The ochre ground of the floor anchors the ebb and flow of life and relationships, while the ship’s wheel above spins like a hand of fate between the two figures. It is an image of human connection emotionally on board a model ship with the exterior environment brought into the domestic space to unexpectedly rich expressive effect. Part of what convinces in this work is Downie’s direct drawn response, characteristically invested in her subject.

James Newton Adams A Pocket Full of Fish (Acrylic on canvas, 97 x 97 cm)

James Newton Adams A Pocket Full of Fish (Acrylic on canvas, 97 x 97 cm)

James Newton Adams has contributed a series of strong compositions to the exhibition including As I was Going to St Ives (Acrylic on canvas, 86 x 96 cm) and In the Company of Birds, (Acrylic on canvas, 87 x 87 cm), injected with Newton Adams’ characteristically whimsical streak and naïve style, tempering what is a harsh human existence carved out between land and sea. One of the most interesting and affecting works in that respect is A Pocket Full of Fish (Acrylic on canvas, 97 x 97 cm) Newton Adams doesn’t often depict the female figure but here his expressionistic rendering of a pregnant woman with a baby standing beside the absence of her partner, his orange fishing overalls suspended from the clothes line, is an insightful and socially charged image of inevitability and unrealised hopes. The pocketful of fish in her partner’s overalls feels like a consolation prize, rather like the bundled child tucked nondescriptly in her arm like a lifeless, sleeping doll.  The mother’s bleak expression, mouth pinched shut like the red peg in her hand and with a hint of shadowed bruising around her eye, expands the in the pervasive mood of the composition. In the background a male figure plods, head bowed, along a depressively level horizon of road. Characteristic use of strong primaries; red, blue, yellow , together with the monochrome weight of white and black which delineates figurative scenes of coastal village and domestic life, give Newton Adams’ paintings a certain edginess and emotional height uniquely his own.

Mary Bourne "Cloud Mass Over the Sea" (Ink wash on paper)

Mary Bourne “Cloud Mass Over the Sea” (Ink wash on paper)

Edginess and emotional height is realised in a very different way in Peter Davis’s Edge of the Storm (Watercolour and pigment on paper, 50 x 70cm) in the tonality of forces; dark and light, pitted against each other in the still calm before the storm. This is beautifully realised in the bisected composition and expert handling of a fluid and notoriously unforgiving medium. What is captured very potently is the threat of the storm, the tension in the moment before the onslaught; that very particular angry blue/grey temper of Scottish skies which is part of the internalised character of Northern land and seascape. The way the pigment is suspended, preserved in its once liquefied medium, also conveys the anticipatory moment, that heaviness, which contrasts beautifully with a shining horizon line of light over the sea. A zen like economy of expression also infuses the ink wash of Mary Bourne’s Cloud Mass over the Sea, a wonderful dance between form, fluidity and reflection. In Red Cloud over Sea (Ink wash on paper) Bourne combines strong marks bled into the edges in a marriage of accidental and controlled marks, capturing one of Nature’s meditative moments. Her low relief sandstone and palladium leaf sculptures; Beach I, II, III (each 30 x 30 cm )present not just an effective abstracted play of light on the sand in three dimensions, but the understated simplicity, of leaving the door ajar for the viewer’s own imaginative experience of the shoreline; triggering memories of walking on sand among glinting pools and the dancing light of the sun.

Allan MacDonald "Great North Headland" (Oil on canvas, 40 x 152 cm)

Allan MacDonald “Great North Headland” (Oil on canvas, 40 x 152 cm)

A master of light and landscape painting in the Northern Romantic tradition, Allan MacDonald’s Great North Headland (Oil on canvas, 40 x 152 cm) is a triptych which celebrates divinity in nature, conjoined with a human heart and mind beholding it. The massed energy of turbulent seas are realised in an invigorating palette of ochre, orange, red, green, umber and white- the physicality of cold salt spray and the heat of sublime spirit animating it, seen as underpainting or ground emerging through the layered impasto. A progressively more abstract immersion Form and Void- Beauly Firth (Oil on board) is bolder and confidently intuitive, with large flat foreground brush marks, white ground shining through and a blaze of resiliently hopeful blue.  The paint handling reveals the artist’s direct response to the enormity of Nature; land, sea and sky, which comes from working outside in all weathers.  In Malestrom Eshness (Oil on board) a fury of waves crashes against the coastal cliffs- raw power, green, white, umber and furious grey, like the livid eye of stillness at the centre of a raging storm. These works aren’t seascape scenes, but richly interpretative paintings, demonstrating a commitment to craft and belief with the artist’s brush marks testimony to that all-encompassing devotional energy.   They are also very physical responses to an endlessly challenging environment. The artist doesn’t distance himself from the life force of nature all around him but actively goes out to meet it with all his perceptive faculties, not just what can be seen with his eyes. In consequence the viewer feels as if they too are standing on the edge of the cliff; in the grip of an essential dynamic between humankind, Nature and the eternal mystery of the sea.

All images by kind permission of Kilmorack Gallery.

http://www.kilmorackgallery.co.uk

Joseph Beuys A language of Drawing

Andy WARHOL (1928–1987) Joseph Beuys, after 1980 Print, screenprint on paper, 126.30 x 117.10 cm. ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d'Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London 2016.Image: © Tate / National Galleries of Scotland.

Andy WARHOL (1928–1987) Joseph Beuys, after 1980 Print, screenprint on paper, 126.30 x 117.10 cm. ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London 2016.Image: © Tate / National Galleries of Scotland.

ARTIST ROOMS:  Joseph Beuys A Language of Drawing, 30 July – 23 October

Richard Demarco & Joseph Beuys/ A Unique Partnership, 30- July – 16 October

Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh.

2016 marks the 30th anniversary of the death of Joseph Beuys (1921-1986), an enigmatic figure in the history of twentieth century art whose concept of “Social Sculpture” feels urgently relevant.  Beyond the historical context of post war Germany; his belief in the ability of each human being to use their innate creativity to build a better society remains aspirational and politically charged. Parallel exhibitions at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art (SNGMA) provide the opportunity to explore and re-evaluate Beuys’s work, legacy and his relationship with Scotland as part of a wider sphere of European culture. Joint ARTIST ROOMS holdings from the National Galleries of Scotland and the Tate have been brought together for the first time in Joseph Beuys- A Language of Drawing, featuring over 100 works from 1945 to 1984. Complimenting this significant survey of Beuys’s drawings is Richard Demarco and Joseph Beuys: A Unique partnership; an exhibition of objects, photography, film, posters, recordings and original correspondence exploring the collaboration between Beuys, Edinburgh gallerist Richard Demarco and the impact of Scotland on the artist’s practice. Beuys’s choice of media and raw elements are invested with intentionality and his delight in playing with language.  He utilised his drawings as “reservoirs” of ideas, often preceding what he described as “actions” in performance, teaching and political activism. Using a wide variety of materials; graphite, ink, industrial “Braunkreuz” oil paint, watercolour, newsprint, leaves, bone, hare’s blood, felt, fat, stone dust, clay, zinc, lime, copper and iron oxides applied to paper, card, metal and wood, Beuys’s drawings are a wonderful window into the endlessly fertile ground of the thematic obsessions, concerns and beliefs that define his art.

It feels very timely to go back to the Beuysian origins of the phrase; “everyone is an artist”; to extrapolate the real aspiration behind it from what it has become in the popular imagination. In the 21st century access to technology has given many the capacity to create and perform online to an increasingly global audience. In this environment seemingly anyone with a platform is an artist. But having access to new tools to express and project your own desires doesn’t constitute “cultural democracy “(or progressive civilization) on its own. Having the purchasing power to buy the latest upgrade is a profit making trajectory that doesn’t necessarily equate to the growth of awareness and conscience needed to actually use it. Joseph Beuys declared that “the creativity of people is the real capital. Art=capital” and he was right, however the word capital in the 21st century has been reduced to only one meaning; monetary wealth. Nowhere is this more evident than in the contemporary art world aligned with the language of advertising. In looking at Beuys you have to re-examine how we define art and culture and completely re-evaluate the role of the artist as compliant agent or resistant activist as part of the wider question: “what is Art and what is it for?” The striding Western Hero in La rivoluzione siamo Noi [We are the Revolution] (1972 (phototype on polyester sheet, with hand written text, stamped (based on a photograph by Giancarlo Pancaldi), GMA 4563, SNGMA) cast Beuys resoundingly as the resistant activist. Although the cowboy swagger is arguably part of the artist’s mythical persona, within his statement that “everyone is an artist” there is also the assertion, commitment and intentionality of building a better society. Significantly there is a sense of collective responsibility underneath that iconic hat.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986) Ohne Titel [Untitled], 1970. Photograph, gelatine silver print on canvas, 233 x 227.5 cm. ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d'Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© DACS 2016.Image: © Antonia Reeve / National Galleries of Scotland.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986) Ohne Titel [Untitled], 1970. Photograph, gelatine silver print on canvas, 233 x 227.5 cm. ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© DACS 2016.Image: © Antonia Reeve / National Galleries of Scotland.

Beuys understood the power of mythology which is why, in the story of him being rescued by a group of nomadic Tartars, he rolls himself in insulating fat and felt; an act of psychological survival after being shot down in the Crimea during WWII whilst serving in the Luftwaffe. Although criticised for the lie of being rescued by a tribal culture, the truth still resides in the myth. Shamanic is a word that gets used a lot around Beuys, however he is iconic not for the cloaked mystery of his artistic persona or for the celebrity treatment of becoming a Warhol multiple, but for his actions; “My art is my teaching” was how he described his own work and his art expands way beyond gallery walls. He was a passionate advocate of the capacity of art to heal individual and societal wounds and like other German Artists of his generation, used his language of drawing as a way of coming to terms with the atrocities of Nazism and human complicity, including his own. From the end of WWII he was actively reclaiming the language of his homeland; the idea of the gesamkunstwerk; the total work of art, which had been misappropriated in Wagnerian proportions during the Nazi era. For Beuys this was an ideal within and without, a synthesis between different disciplines, a total work of art as bound to human life, manifest in the concept of “Social Sculpture”. Psychologically he was his own gesamtkunstwerk;

“I outlined a new biography in drawings. I had already conceived the idea of a social work of art upon which I am still working”. (Joseph Beuys, 1980).

The idea that people can use their creativity to bring about positive cultural, political, economic, ecological and social change is an eternally hopeful premise for reconstruction. The imperative then was a world visibly in ruin in the aftermath of industrial scale warfare, genocide and the age of the atom bomb. The imperative now is displaced humanity, global corporate rule and impending ecological disaster.

In the poignant drawing Dove, Food, Rainbow (1949, Graphite and watercolour on card, AR00095 ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.) Beuys uses simple linear graphite and white washes of watercolour on a raw, textured ground of found card, to create a feeling of profound lassitude and hope. The bowed head of the dove linked to the promise of a rainbow which has not yet burst into colour and the mountainous horizon is both a statement of loss and aspiration. When I think of Beuys I think of Maslow’s pyramid of human needs and belief in the motivational capacity of human beings for self-actualisation and self-transcendence.  As a follower of Rudolf Steiner’s teachings, there are elements of ethical individualism and spiritual science that become integrated Beuys’s in the trajectory of his drawings.

Beuys can be seen as shamanic in his depth of awareness; of the nature of mythology, culture and the universal tribe of humankind. It’s what makes the simplicity of Acer Platanoides (1945, Leaf on paper, AR00630, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.) so revelatory; a fallen leaf on paper, felling the then blackened mythology of the German forest to the ground.  Out of the fascist cry of “blood and soil”, Beuys leads the viewer back to the possibility of survival and growth through creativity.  Nature in Beuys’s work is very much in the German Romantic tradition of Friedrich– we are always aware of a human mind beholding it. Beuys’s drawing The Centrifugal Forces of the Mountains (1953, Graphite on paper, 3 parts. ARTIST ROOMS, National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Lent by Anthony d’Offay, 2010. AL00196) acknowledges and crystallises that dynamism. There is a human presence in all his drawings, whether they are figurative or not. A fluid horizon of hare’s blood, fat transformed by human warmth, a symbolic battery of positive and negative forces, the flow between masculine and feminine, reason and intuition, present meanings sensed and felt in the action, rather than seen. If you go looking for the artifice of beauty in this artist’s work then you are destined never to find it. The beauty in Beuys lies in belief and aspiration. His connection with Scotland and interest in Celtic mythology shares a kinship with the bardic tradition of creativity as a source of transformation and renewal. His drawings are the process, sometimes unrealised actions, part of the trajectory of a life and linked with many others. This clearly presents a problem for some art critics and viewers hunting for explanatory meanings, traditional linear narratives or illustration. There are many works in the exhibition that document actions where the artist’s presence was vital and equally many drawings and objects that stand apart from the myth of the artist, transcending their maker. Beuys challenges traditional/ art historical classifications, his art was as much about founding the green party, lecturing, teaching, performance and the energy of raw materials as it was about the fine art practices of drawing, sculpture and installation.

In Richard Demarco’s essay Ex Cathedra; he refers to performance art as: “ essentially a form of drawing through what Gaston Bachelard, the French phenomenologist called La Poetique de L’Espace. Performance art reveals 20th century man’s need for ritual. The artist’s work through performance art can be linked to that of the ritualist, alchemist, priest and master of ceremonies and guide and explorer, of all the secret places normally hidden from view, which we need to know to truly inhabit a living space, both interior and exterior.” (A Unique partnership-Richard Demarco / Joseph Beuys, P70 Luath Press Limited, Edinburgh2016)

Tails (1962, Oil paint[Braunkreuz], graphite and felt AR00654 ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.) is a very potent expression of the artist, ritualist, alchemist, priest/ shaman and explorer, half human half animal, in the process of transformation, rendered in bloody, earthen pigment. The elongated scale of the figure gives it a monumental presence and the gestural marks have the feel of an act of worship written and illuminated on ancient cave walls. The oil based Braunkreuz paint Beuys often used in his drawings was in industrial/ domestic use in Germany at the time, it is also a play on words- translated as “brown cross” anchoring the earth bound pigment to faith, the floors/ foundations of people’s homes and to the world of the everyday. It is a powerful material anchor to what may seem a highly fantastical image. Another fibrous layer in this drawing is a sewn hole of felt heralding ritual rebirth which the figure appears to bow before. The Shaman’s Two Bags (1977, Graphite, crayon and ink on paper, AR00129, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.)  is another example of the artist’s preoccupation with humankind’s interior and exterior life, above and below, uterine in form and crowned with antler.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986) Witches Spitting Fire, 1959,Graphite and oil paint on paper, 20.70 x 29.70 cm.ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d'Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008© DACS 2016.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986) Witches Spitting Fire, 1959,Graphite and oil paint on paper, 20.70 x 29.70 cm.ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008© DACS 2016.

Beuys’s treatment of the feminine in his work is extremely interesting as a manifestation of creative and destructive potential. In Witches Spitting Fire, (1959, Graphite and oil paint (Braunkreuz) on paper, AR00109, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.) the squatting armless figures engulf the ground of the drawing in a frenzied dabbing of reddish, brown marks in stark contrast to their lithe, dellineated bodies. The energy of the drawing is intensely visceral; channelling a deeply instinctual and uncontainable drive. The female figures consume the space they inhabit with the associative pigmentation of blood, soil and excrement. The mystery of the female body is amplified by the male artist’s gaze in Pregnant Woman with Swan (1959, Oil paint and watercolour on paper AR00114, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008.) Here the swollen female figure in silhouette contains the ghostly masculine form of the child/ swan. The head is bowed limply in a Freudian twist; vulnerability held within the body of the Great Mother. The form echoes stone age Venus figures, the earliest depictions of fertile human body and imagination in clay.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986)Pregnant Woman with Swan, 1959, Oil paint and watercolour on paper, 27.60 x 21.30 cm. Permanent Collection: ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d'Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© DACS 2016.

Joseph BEUYS (1921–1986)Pregnant Woman with Swan, 1959, Oil paint and watercolour on paper, 27.60 x 21.30 cm. Permanent Collection: ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through The d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and the Art Fund 2008.© DACS 2016.

A drawing such as this has universal resonances regardless of what has been written alongside it. There is a perception of Beuys, reflected in James Fox’s most recent programme; Who’s afraid of conceptual Art? screened earlier this week on BBC4, of being bafflingly abstract or (through the eyes of art historian Fox) allegorical. However I would argue that Beuys’s work is neither too obtuse to be accessible without written explanation, nor does it operate on a level of representation discernible only to scholars. Actions like 7000 Oaks (1982), where Beuys initiated the planting of 7000 oaks, each paired with a basalt stone in the city of Kassel, has spread to other cities around the world; a collective creative act of live sculptural installation, green politics and urban renewal. I think what Beuys was about expands exponentially when seen outside a typical gallery space. This was very much the intention behind Beuys’s first exhibition in the English speaking world; Strategy: Get Arts hosted by Richard Demarco at Edinburgh College of Art in 1970.

The underpinning conceit of Fox’s documentary was that audiences require explanation in order to understand conceptual art, or rather the ideas behind it. As I made my way through the ARTIST ROOMS exhibition a group of young art students came in; “You can draw anything as long as you explain what you’re doing!”, declared one of them, laughing and pointing to the text label beside one of Beuys’s drawings. The student and his three giggling companions exited quickly, their laughter following them down the stairs.  On one level I understand their response. For a group of immature, white middle class art students the urgency of having civilization as they knew it destroyed before their eyes wasn’t part of their life experience  and nor is it mine. Thankfully we have not been faced with the physical and psychological necessity of rebuilding life as we know it. In such a context Art isn’t a subject to be studied, it becomes an imperative; because in truth it is our only means of human reflection and survival, an idea that is articulated beautifully in Schitten (Sled) 1969 (Wooden sled, fat,, felt, belts, torch, No 47 in an edition of 50) . This piece derived from Beuys’s larger installation- The Pack (1969); a Volkswagen with 24 sledges flowing from the back of it like a team of huskies, each with a felt blanket, a lump of fat and a torch, has a curiously powerful human presence. Beuys commented; “In a state of emergency the Volkswagen bus is of limited usefulness, and more direct and primitive means must be taken to ensure survival.” Seeing this singular, editioned object of endurance and exploration displayed in a glass case has the effect of relegating it as a dead historical artefact, when in imaginative terms it is the creative key to human survival for the journey ahead; the sled to move across the wasteland we find ourselves in, the protective insulation of felt, the sustenance of fat, a torch to illuminate the path ahead and human warmth to transform the world around us. Although both exhibitions are text heavy there are other ways of presenting Beuys, as part of a wider discussion of where we’re all heading. The artist’s interests and concerns were wide ranging; art, mythology, anthropology, history, science, ecology, alchemy, Nature and all of these are combined in the gesamkunstwerk of his life’s work.

Beuys’s Pyramidales Bild (1979, Oil paint on printed paper, AR00687, ARTIST ROOMS National Galleries of Scotland and Tate. Acquired jointly through the d’Offay Donation with assistance from the National Heritage Memorial Fund and Art Fund 2008) encapsulates his philosophy in its synthesis of ideas, beliefs and materials.  The pyramid is a multifaceted form in relation to Christianity, Theosophy and Steiner, but what is so interesting in this drawing is Beuys’s use of newspaper print and the way that the halo of fat bled into the paper defines and transforms our reading of the more rigid structure within. In this vertical diptych the geometric forms are almost architectural and the fold of the newsprint holds a sun-like apex of fat. These drawings resemble a built structure/ environment but also the human body. The feeling held in this drawing is the softened rigidity of form and feeling. There’s an emotive sense of spirituality and hope grounded in a real world of possibility. This is communicated not by an illustrative, narrative imagery, but by the combination of thought and raw, found, everyday materials which are reconfigured, crafted in an apex of human aspiration, continually striving towards light.

https://www.nationalgalleries.org/whatson/exhibitions/artist-rooms-joseph-beuys-a-language-of-drawing

Facing the World

Self-portraits from Rembrandt to Ai Weiwei

19 July – 16 October, Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh. 

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Ai Weiwei Illumination,2014. Image courtesy Ai Weiwei Studio ©  Ai Weiwei

In the words of T.S. Eliot; we all “prepare a face to meet the faces that [we] meet”. Beholding oneself is a complex act of intentionality and judgement, whether it is standing before the bathroom mirror in the morning preparing to face the world or standing between a mirror and an easel creating an image to face the world with. In both cases the instrument of self-appraisal is a doubled edged sword of truth and deception. Unravelling intentionality is one of the great pleasures of this show, because ultimately my appreciation of any human image, portrait or self-portrait, hinges on the ability of the artist to transcend the sitter, their own time and themselves. The visualised self must connect in some way to something greater than the “me” of that moment and I have to feel it that it does, otherwise I cannot believe in it as Art. Although that might seem like a critically limiting statement, it’s simply meant as an expansion in terms of seeing the Arts as Humanities.  Humanity is most certainly the foundation of self-portraiture for the artist/maker and the viewer; the perception or identification with universal human traits, characteristics or frailties collectively shared, coupled with the profound need to understand who we are in an existential sense.

Facing the World, Self-portraits from Rembrandt to Ai Weiwei is an inspired collaboration between the Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Lyon and the National Galleries of Scotland features over 150 works by over 100 artists, spanning six centuries. The exhibition juxtaposes artist’s self-portraits from different eras through the media of painting, printmaking, drawing, photography, sculpture and video, arranged in thematic sections; Up Close and Personal, The Artist at Work, Friends and Family, Role Playing and The Body of the Artist. The range of attitudes towards the Self contrast and interweave in fascinating ways, with the lack of chronology creating new connections between artists not usually seen beside each other. It is particularly exciting to see work from different European collections and pieces held by private collectors brought together and there are many works that UK audiences will not have had the opportunity to see before. A diverse range of artists including; Andy Warhol, Henri Matisse, Edvard Munch, Robert Mapplethorpe, Sarah Lucas,  Marina Abramović, Oskar Kokoschka, Max Beckmann, Ai Weiwei, James Ensor, Paul Klee, Gustav Courbet, Antione Watteau, Allan Ramsay, Lee Miller, John Bellany, Douglas Gordon, Henry Raeburn, Ken Currie, Alison Watt, John Byrne, Ulrike Rosenbach, Helen Chadwick, Imogen Cunningham, Jan Fabre, Henri Fantin Latour, Lovis Corinth, Erich Heckel, Ernst Ludwig Kirchener, Max Klinger, Angela Palmer, Cecile Walton, Georg Scholz and Simon Vouet, Palma Vecchio (Jacopo Negretti), Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita and Ludwig Meidner, provide significant opportunities for discovery and rediscovery.

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Rembrandt Self-Portrait, Aged 51 (c.1657, Oil on canvas: 53.00 x 43.00 cm, Edinburgh, Scottish National Gallery, Bridgewater Loan, 1945)

Among the many exhibition highlights is Rembrandt Van Rijn’s Self-Portrait (c.1657, Oil on canvas, 53 x 43cm, Scottish National Gallery, Edinburgh.) In relation to self-portraiture Rembrandt feels like the visual embodiment Socrates’ credo; “know thyself” and in this respect he remains unequalled in the history of Art. Rembrandt‘s extraordinary realness in facing himself never fails to move me every time I am confronted by it. The trajectory of his 80+ surviving paintings, etchings and drawings in the genre resoundingly depict a man, rather than a Romantic projection of the artist/ genius. This is the source of his timeless appeal, in being one of us; warts and all, transcending his artistic identity to speak to any human being who meets his gaze, regardless of the century they’re standing in. In this Self-Portrait of 165[5?], we see the artist clothed in a modest brown velvet cap. His eyes absorb and contain the entire depth of the background. In the ground of all his works is that defining  search, undertaken by all enduring artists; grappling with their chosen medium and with themselves. Lines of age, experience and the concentration of his furrowed brow are rendered out of darkness, brought into the yellowed light of illumination and decay. He looks within himself and the viewer simultaneously, careworn and intensely human; the layered paintwork of his skin and the fragility of individual hairs catching the light conveying the vulnerability of mortal flesh, magnified with age. He is as we all are, marching towards an inevitable fate. This sense of a real life lived rather than the artifice of a painted surface; skin deep, is one of the most compelling elements of Rembrandt’s self-portraits. Self-delusional vanity simply isn’t part of his grammar. It is impossible for me not to feel reverence in the presence of such honesty, especially in the context of contemporary Western culture which denies age, human frailty and death. There is something achingly beautiful in the dignity, awareness and knowing within this self-portrait, something which reaches powerfully across time to acknowledge the eternal human condition. This is Rembrandt wrestling with the unknown, trying to see into the dark, to find out who he is ithrough a lifetime’s work and who we are as a conscious species in the process. What makes his self-portraiture “Great”, in the fullest sense of that word, is not the prolific outpouring of images or the canonised label of “Master”, but the psychological depth of exploration and the artist’s emotional intelligence. This isn’t a singular emoji of expression but a myriad of hopes, knowing and sorrows, everything the artist has experienced to that point brought to bear in a single image of brilliant complexity and poignancy. Rather than returning to his own image for self-gratification, we are faced with Rembrandt’s essential humanity which shines through even his darkest paintings, acknowledging forces greater than himself.

Nearby Sir David Wilkie’s Self-Portrait (About 1804-5, Oil on canvas, 76.5 x 63.5cm, Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh.), painted when he was only twenty years old, walks a knife edge between self-doubt and self-assurance. Superbly modelled in an economic, loose handling of paint, his pensive features are half lit and half in shadow. The warmth of his lips, cheeks and locks of tousled red hair are contrasted with the crisp line of his white shirt, vibrant yellow waistcoat and the porte crayon poised in his elegantly refined hand.  There is Romanticism and sophistication in the modelling certainly, but there is also a young man finding his way in the world. It isn’t Wilkie the handsome, the fashionable or the rising star that dominates, but the tension between human aspiration and fallibility- or is it the fact that the face of Rembrandt is so close by? In this self-portrait Wilkie reveals himself as an appealing presence of highly focused mind and action, grappling with his Art and who he is, presenting a strong statement about his artistic intent and creative process. Another Self- Portrait by Louis Janmot (1832, Oil on canvas, 81 x 65.1, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon.) extends this idea further, with the eighteen year old artist holding his brush like a surgeon, the white tip like the piercing light in his eyes, unwaveringly focused and ready to attack the canvas. The full frontal positioning of the artist places the viewer in an intriguing position- as if we are both the canvas and the mirror in a shared moment of introspection.  It is a supremely balanced composition, with opposing forces of red and green cutting a swathe of energy and shadow through the image. Janmot’s squared collar belonging to a distant age mirrors the form of his forehead as he protectively cradles his palette. It is an arresting portrait of youthful Romantic energy but with a devout sense of purpose; sculpted in paint like a living neoclassical marble of artistic ideals, about to reach dynamically beyond the foreground and into the viewer’s space.

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Louise Janmot, Self-Portrait, (1832, Oil on canvas. Image © Lyon MBA – Photo Alain Basset)

Reaching directly into the viewer’s space in examination of self is one of the definitive qualities of the Up Close and Personal section of the exhibition, beginning with a slide show of Selfies by Ai Weiwei,and an adjacent series of three selfie photographic prints taken during and in the aftermath of his violent arrest on 12th August 2009 in Chengdu, China:

(Cats 143-5, https://media2.wnyc.org/i/620/465/I/80/1/Ai_Weiwi.jpg, accessed 11 August 2015, http://hyperallergic.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/WeiWeiHospital-CourtesyFreizeBlog.png, accessed 11 August 2015, http://blog.art21.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/aiww-hospital-01.jpg, accessed 11 August 2015).

In the context of what James Hall describes in his Facing the World catalogue essay Why Self Portraits? as our contemporary “selfie pandemic”, Ai Weiwei’s use of technology and the internet as an agent for awareness, political activism and social change is in stark contrast to the habitual daily use of smartphones and selfies that dominate popular culture. The disposability of these images; buried in memory cards, Facebook posts or in endlessly scrolling tweets, chasing viral popularity and demanding instant attention / response, significantly differs from the intentionality of the artist. In using his mobile phone to capture moments in his own life and share them online, Ai Weiwei documents many lifetimes of intimidation and brutality at the hands of a repressive regime. What he shares with the world is arguably greater than himself, his individual identity, feelings or predicament in any given moment. This means of connection and communication is also a mode of survival. The irony is that in the relative freedom of the West, where the vast majority of people have freedom of access to technology and the internet, these privileges are used primarily to say nothing other than look at me! Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame in the age of the Polaroid has shrunk to mere seconds of rapidly passing interest in the era of the Smartphone. In our celebrity obsessed age it would be easy to confuse Ai Weiwei’s fame with his Art, but it is the depth of exploration in his work and its essentially critical nature which ultimately define it. His declaration that; “I want people to see their own power” doesn’t hinge on our ability to purchase the latest upgrade, but on how we use that technology –either to expand the world or to shrink it.

The first image of the photographic selfie sequence (Cat 143), (Ai Weiwei Illumination,2014. Image courtesy Ai Weiwei Studio ©  Ai Weiwei) posted on Twitter following his 2009 arrest, reimagines everyday technology and the self within the selfie. The artist is seen standing in a lift, capturing his own image, flanked by police and the rock musician Zuoxiao Zuzhou in an intensely ironic self-reflective triptych of surfaces. Holding his phone aloft to take the shot, dressed in a torn red t-shirt, he is an everyman in the sense of Jesus. The light and illumination of the camera, its connection to global networks and the presence of the image in the gallery space makes this a dangerous moment framed for timely contemplation. The third image of the series (Cat 145); of Ai Weiwei in a hospital bed in Munich, recovering from the cerebral haemorrhage caused by his arrest, is grounded in a similar way. Here the artist utilises the blood bag tube as a looped frame around his eye. Curiously the photograph doesn’t feel self-consciously posed, but immediately confronts the viewer with the connectivity of the human eye; experiencing (directly for the artist and empathically for the viewer) suffering, vulnerability and the question of justice in the viewer’s role as witness. In many ways it’s an anti-selfie in the popular sense, because it’s an act of defiance and survival, rather than vanity or conformity. Getting people to like him or fitting in clearly isn’t the artist’s intention.

In the hands of Ai Weiwei the concept of self-image, social networking and having “followers” represents political will and the universal Human right to freedom of expression; not merely the product of having  a phone in the hand, but possessing the presence of mind to compose the critical shot in the midst of life threatening circumstances. At the dawn of instant messaging Ai Weiwei understood what the rest of the world is still slow to grasp; that understanding the grammar of visual language is more influential and ultimately valuable in human terms than simply reinventing the alphabet. The artist’s selfies constitute more than the classification of self-portraiture might initially suggest to a Western audience, groomed in the Romantic myth of the artist/ genius and collective worship of celebrity. For most of us these images are acts of activism that we can scarcely imagine the necessity of. In his Facing the World catalogue essay; The Global Language of Selfies, Wolfgang Ullrich makes reference to the myth of Narcissus and Alberti’s question in On Painting (1435/6); “What is painting but the act of embracing by means of Art the surface of the pool?” In an increasingly globalised, digital age one might well substitute the words; “instant messaging” in place of “painting” and “digital technology” in the place of “Art”.

The self-referential /autobiographical also provides far reaching illuminations in the work of Symbolist Edvard Munch. In his Self-Portrait (1895, Lithograph, 3rd state, (about 1915) 73.2 x 52.6, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, on loan from the The Brochs of Ciogach Art Collection) the artist himself is a Memento Mori, his head isolated, stark white in an encircling black ground. The puritanical, austere collar contrasts with the fluidly delicate sweep of his hair and the skull-like contours of his cheekbones. Subtler still is his expression- one eyebrow raised, the other downturned, like a fused mask of Greek Comedy and Tragedy; his eyes rendered with the barest suggestion of marks, but endlessly questioning the viewer.  Nearby is his Self-Portrait with Wine Bottle (1930, Lithograph, 42 x 51.5cm, Statliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe), which drew me first due to its relative unfamiliarity, then to the rediscovery of his singular Self Portrait . Self-Portrait with Wine Bottle is an image of loneliness, desolate isolation and the disease of alcoholism. However as in many of the artist’s paintings and prints where stages or cycles of human life, desire, decay and death are invoked, Munch bears the torments of his individual soul together with a baseline of human experience.  The intimately attendant figures in the far distant tunnel of background suggest the ghostly presence of a featureless, bald old man looking on and the silhouetted figures of a man and woman turned away from each other, seemingly growing out of Munch’s shoulder and his unconscious. There is a wider frame of reference than self-consciousness or wallowing in the bottle here, but the universal suggestion of aging, rejection and separation that we all feel at different points in our lives, establishing an intimate emotional connection with the isolated spirit of the artist. Seeing this work, where Munch face is being engulfed by twilight shadow after a long day into darkness, made me re-examine the more familiar Self-Portrait (1895) more closely, not for its immediate starkness but for Munch’s innate sensitivity – a quality often underappreciated in the heightened anxiety of his iconic works.

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Ernst Ludwig KirchnerThe Painter (Self-Portrait), (1920Three-block linocut in grey-blue, yellow and red. © bpk / Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe).

I was elated to find works by German artists such as; Ludwig Meidner, Alexander Kandoldt, Wilhelm Scharrenberger, Karl Hubbach, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Erich Heckel and a set of exquisitely sharp and insightful woodcut and drypoint etchings by Max Beckmann included in the show. Beckmann’s compression of an entire society into the frame is masterful and the artist depicts himself both as a complicit protagonist and a witness. The power of his mask-like 1922 Self-Portrait (Woodcut, 22.2 x 15.5cm, Statliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe) achieved with the psychologically and physically gouging marks of the print method and the inference of primitive, instinctual drives, is contrasted with the palpable sense of vulnerability and loss in the ironically civilized attire of his 1921 Self-Portrait with Bowler Hat (Drypoint etching 32.2 x 24.2cm, Statliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe).

One of the most delightful inclusions in the show are three etchings on Chine-collé from a series of ten by the Austrian Symbolist Max Klinger : A Glove Sheet 1: Place, Sheet 2: Action and Sheet 7: Fears. (Fantasies on a Found Glove, Dedicated to the Lady who Lost it.1881, 4th edition, 1898, Statliche Kunsthall ). Based on an autobiographical experience of unrequited love and desire, the frozen moment of Action where figures teeter on an unstable brink of awakening emotion, gliding elegantly across the skating rink, reveal elongated shadow selves of the unconscious. The fallen glove is picked up by the artist, who loses his hat in the process in a symbolic precursor to Surrealism. The emotional centre of gravity in this richly expressive work is instantly relatable and as a stream of consciousness projection of “fantasies” by the artist, an intriguingly fascinating variant of the self-portrait. Fears is the most revealing of the three in the fantastic revelry of horror and dreams, sex and death. Marooned and drowning, natural sources of light are eclipsed in the radically upturned, box-like composition, a turgid unconscious world where the slit of the open glove dwarfs the sleeping artist, who is contracted against a wall, whilst reaching into the frame on the far left a pair of ghostly gloved hands ominously reach across the emotionally conductive element of water. The artist is depicted beset by his own fears and desires, in a way that transforms the heightened imagination of the scene into tangibly real feelings.  The strikingly elongated horizontal composition of unconscious sleep reveals painful truths and Freudian dreams, states of human denial and desire. It’s a doorway into Klinger’s mind which the viewer can wander into and the ultimate self-portrait; tantalisingly still as an object of contemplation and self-reflexivity.

One of the most extraordinary, mesmerising and multi-layered works in the show is Ulrike Rosenbach’s Don’t Believe I’m an Amazon (1975, Black and white video, soundtrack, 15mins, PAL, made during a live video action. On loan from the ZKM, Karlsruhe.) In this recording of a live performance, Rosenbach uses two closed circuit cameras; the first focused on a circular enlargement of Stefan Lochner’s Madonna of the Rose Bower (1440-2, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne) and the second set within a square opening at the centre of the painting. What we see on screen are these two views combined, superimposed over each other as the artist takes aim to shoot fifteen arrows into the image / mythology of the Madonna, the Amazon and herself. At points in the performance Rosenbach’s eyes become those of the Madonna, shifting uneasily between iconic reverence, platitude and violence. The artist shooting arrows into her own face and that of the ultimate Mother is an incredibly potent act with the tension of each arrow, strained then released as part of the aural and visceral tension of the work. The concentration as she takes aim, the focus of her art, charged with serenity, rage, faith and intellectually sharpened emotion is stunning. The view of the action and the penetrative result are seen powerfully in what feels like a living/ live feed of resonant imagery. There is a feeling throughout of realness in the performance, rather than staging. In the video Rosenbach beholds the reproduced painting of the Madonna, herself and the viewer. During this trajectory of thought and action she has tears in her eyes, bites her lip; the action is mindful, considered and emotionally fraught. The conflict is in Femininity regarding itself and the intense complexity of this artist’s performance is wonderfully unexpected and incredibly beautiful. A student of the much venerated Joseph Beuys, it would be wonderful to see the full scope of Rosenbach’s work exhibited here in Scotland. One of the first artists in Germany to embrace the possibilities of video and electronic images, “not burdened with art history like painting”, Rosenbach’s choice of media is aligns superbly with her intentionality, examining the traditional roles of women from a Feminist perspective.

Art Must Be Beautiful

Marina Abramović. Art must be Beautiful, Artist must be Beautiful, (1975, ZKM | Zentrum fur Kunst und Medientechnologie. © VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2015.)

It is extremely interesting to see the work of Marina Abramović Art Must Be Beautiful, Artist Must be Beautiful , (1975, Black and White video, soundtrack, 23 mins 38 seconds, PAL SD Performance 1 hour, Charlottenburg Art Festival, Copenhagen, 1975. On loan from ZKM, Karlsruhe and the archives of Marina Abramović. Courtesy of Marina Abramović and LiMA.), Helen Chadwick’s ; Self-Portrait, ( 1991, Photographic transparency, glass, aluminium frame and electric lights, 50.9 x 44.6 x 11.8cm, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art) and Angela Palmer’s Brain of the Artist (2012, Edition two from an edition of five, engraved on sixteen sheets of glass, 34.7 x 29.2 x13.9cm, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art.) side by side in The Body of the Artist section, each raising important questions about self, artist identity and gender in the reduction of self  to an act of self-mutilation in performance  or to cerebrally isolated body parts. In some ways both Chadwick and Palmer’s visions of self are liberated from the Feminine by being distinctly human and on the other hand this reductive choice, insisting on being seen as a brain, completely disconnected from potential projections onto the face and body, still feels like a troubling necessity. Chadwick’s photograph of a disembodied brain is reads as a universal self-portrait in that it could belong to anyone and Palmer combines the scientific/ diagnostic techniques of MRI scanning with the fragility of glass in displaying the physical and associative workings of her inner self. Unless one is a neurosurgeon and then only in part, the self does not surrender its mysteries and is completely divorced from the face/ identity of the individual. We only read this as Brain of the Artist because the label tells us to believe that it is a precisely mapped rendering of Palmer herself, it’s a beautiful construct in three dimensions. Marina Abramović’s performance assaults the notion of Beauty with “the static video camera serv[ing] as a mirror” and the mantra she recites; “Art Must Be Beautiful, Artist Must be Beautiful” provides the rhythmic impetus of belief behind tearing open her skin and the hair from her head. The statement feels like a cross between religious doctrine, an advertising slogan and self-help psychology. Self-mutilation is part of the acknowledgement of what Beauty has become and also what it is not in Feminist terms. Although  Abramović’s performance lacks the subtlety of  Rosenbach’s , her uncompromising vision of self in the process of injury and deconstruction also presents the possibility of reimagining the self and it is this aspect of the work that I find most compelling, existing beyond the shock of the moment.

My experience of the original work made the interactive elements of the Facing the World exhibition redundant in terms of feeling the need or the desire to add my own selfie to the mix. However the exhibition extends beyond the gallery space into its dedicated website and into the classroom. Education teams at the National Galleries of Scotland, the Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe and the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Lyon have been working with young people to explore self-portraiture and the touring exhibition’s interactive elements including FLICK-EU and FLICK-EU Mirror, capturing images of visitors in its various locations and broadcasting them within the exhibition and online. Post Brexit I wonder if collaborations like this, enabled by the European Commission’s Creative Europe funding programme, will continue to be possible. Being able to bring together works from European collections is a vital position which encourages connection, understanding and reflection; seeing ourselves in a new light, doubly so in the wider thematic context of Facing the World. In the words of Max Beckmann;” Since we still do not know what this self really is … we must peer deeper and deeper into its discovery. For the self is the great veiled mystery of the world.

Dedicated website for the Facing the World exhibition: www.i-am-here.eu

Scottish National Portrait Gallery: https://www.nationalgalleries.org/visit/scottish-national-portrait-gallery-23553

Surreal Encounters: Collecting the Marvellous

SCOTTISH NATIONAL GALLERY OF MODERN ART (SNGMA), Edinburgh.              4th JUNE − 11th SEPTEMBER 2016.

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Dorothea TANNING (1910-2012) Eine Kleine Nachtmusik [A Little Night Music], 1943. Oil on canvas, 40.7 x 61cm. Collection: Tate (formerly collection of R. Penrose) Purchased with assistance from the Art Fund and the American Fund for the Tate Gallery 1997.

Having just completed a review of the Surreal Encounters: Collecting the Marvellous exhibition for the TLS, I want to focus more specifically here on the Feminine elements of the show. One of the most satisfying aspects of this exhibition is the way that it reconnects the viewer with the underlying passions, obsessions and political activism of Dada and Surrealist Art; expanding what Surrealism can be in the popular imagination and challenging what collecting Art has become in the 21st century. Drawn from four extraordinary private collections; those of Roland Penrose (1900-1984), Edward James (1907-1984), Gabrielle Keiller (1908-1995) and Ulla and Heiner Pietzsch, the range and quality of work, including key female Surrealists, is stunningly immersive.  Jointly organised by the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, the Hamburger Kunsthalle and Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam, the unique juxtaposition of paintings, sculptures, collages, drawings, photographs, original prints, rare artist books, objects, design and ephemera, presents a golden opportunity for reappraisal of the movement and its masters. There are over 190 works on show by artists including; Salvador Dali, Reneé Magritte,  Joan Miró, Pablo Picasso, Marcel Duchamp, Alberto Giacometti, Max Ernst, Mark Rothko, Man Ray, Henry Moore, André Masson, YvesTanguy, Eduardo Paolozzi , Leonor Fini, Leonora Carrington, Dorothea Tanning, Hannah Höch, Eileen Agar, Valentine Penrose (nee  Boué), Paul Delvaux, Francis Picabia, George Grosz, Joseph Cornell, Hans Bellmer, Hans Arp, Balthus (Bathazar Klossowski de Rota), Roland Penrose and Georges Hugnet.

I could easily devote an entire blog post to individual collectors, the content of their collections or individual artists who provided some of the highlights of the exhibition; the exquisite work of Dorothea Tanning, Leonora Carrington, Leonor Fini, Eileen Agar or Max Ernst’s paintings, collages and rarely seen collage novels. This exhibition presents the opportunity for greater public awareness of lesser known work,  part of a wider struggle for equality. Although recent scholarship continues to shed light on the work of female artists traditionally outside great male creator canon, I’m not convinced that this level of consciousness has really entered the cultural mainstream. The world of Art History is something of an academic bubble and people are too familiar in an age of celebrity with the artist as a marketable brand, rather than a creative force of intention or aspiration.  The objectification of Art in an age of mass consumption (and an Art Market driven by ad men and oligarchs investing in their own shares) makes it hard to imagine that the value of Art can be anything other than the highest price paid at auction-until alternative ways of seeing are made publicly visible.

For me the beauty of Surreal Encounters: Collecting the Marvellous is the way that it does exactly that. We see by example that collecting Art isn’t necessarily driven by investment and status, but by love, collaboration and a desire for the common good. There is also a collective sense within the movement of qualities beyond dreamy, escapist fantasies and self-promotion, rooted in the reality of global conflict, persecution, the rise of totalitarianism and coming to grips with who and what we are as human beings. With Dada as it’s critically savage precursor, unlocking the imaginative, collective unconscious becomes a cultural imperative and a matter of survival. Although we equate Surrealism today with a penchant for bizarre, absurd juxtapositions of images and ideas, what is often forgotten is the outrage of its outrageousness; of striving to be anything but the respectable, compliant, banal mediocrity that enabled extreme militarism to thrive.  Hitler’s regime, like all extremist ideologies past and present, understood extremely well what liberal, democratic governments too often forget:  the value of culture, the capacity of the visual to focus intentionality and human aspiration for good or ill. It is not surprising that subversive, so called “degenerate art”, was identified as a serious ideological threat that had to be eradicated by the Nazis.  The Surrealists were visibly defiant advocates of free love, thought and expression, qualities which remain radical even today. Crucially that radicalism encompasses how we see and define ourselves.

La Représentation [Representation], 1937

René MAGRITTE (1898-1967) La Représentation [Representation], 1937 Oil on canvas laid on plywood, 48.8 x 44.5 cm. Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, purchased 1990 © DACS & The Estate of René Magritte.

René Magritte’s La Représentation /Representation (1937, Oil on canvas laid on plywood SNGMA, Edinburgh, formerly collections of R.Penrose and G.Keiller, purchased 1990) reminds us of the ambiguous truth of seeing and attributing meaning. The Feminine is narrowly edited; “Woman” defined by her sex with the visual focus on the child rearing hips, abdomen and vulva which become an object framed in isolation. Minus the head (intellect), torso (heart) and active limbs, the female body is coolly divorced from its own consciousness; the frame hugging the sensuous contours of the amputated abdomen. However there is always more to a Magritte painting than meets the eye. Here he seemingly reflects the focus of a male gaze, but also suggests the artificiality of the man-made object in its two dimensional representation. The self-conscious framing device is alluring, but equally cerebral in terms of what it suggests about the feminine “other”. The confinement of the frame draws attention to the lie of the canvas and the seduction of idealised Beauty. In juxtaposing these ideas in a single image Magritte playfully questions what we assume we’re looking at- one of his greatest strengths as an artist. It would be easy to appropriate this image as the calling card of one of the Surrealist Boys- but it is more than that. Gender is an aspect of the painting’s multi-layered meanings, not the sum total of them. What it says to me as a woman and as an art historian in 2016 is not to be complicit in the lie- that “representation” is precisely that- with all its attendant dynamics of power. In the context of his oeuvre, Magritte is fundamentally (and very consciously) about how we see and create meaning. To dismiss him as a painter of dreams is to miss the point of his work entirely. There is a sense in which La Représentation enshrines a faceless, voiceless, Classical Feminine ideal in a gilt frame, but it also focuses our attention on the crafting of the image and the idea of received meaning, actively grappling with those perceived truths. Part of the SNGMA permanent collection, it’s a work I’ve returned to many times because it is such a contentious, brilliantly confrontational image that the viewer is forced to negotiate, rather than simply look at, admire or desire.

Being looked at by men is the traditional role assigned to women throughout the Western figurative tradition and the female muse is also a well-established trope in Art. However this passive companion to male engendered Creativity is challenged by the latitude of exploration Surrealism allows- made visible in the scope of this exhibition. Unlocking the unconscious through free association, automatic writing, assemblage and collage techniques creates a heightened sense of alternate reality. The free form craft of placing contradictory ideas beside each other in denial of the absolute asserts the political right to freedom of expression. The beauty of Surrealism is that in its purest form, it brings us into confrontation with ourselves on an intensely psychological level; individually and collectively. It is possible to perceive the world within and without in new ways. There are many sublime examples of this kind of confrontation in the show, presenting alternatives to received ideas, passive Femininity and the supremacy of the Great (male) Artist. In Picasso’s drawing La fin d’un monster / Death of a Monster (1937, Pencil on paper, Formerly collection of Roland Penrose, SNGMA, Edinburgh)  the Minotaur is confronted by his monstrous reflection, revealed to him by Athene, the Goddess of wisdom, holding a mirror to his face in one hand and a phallic spear in the other. It’s an image of male ego, a wildly virile masculine persona confronted by his fallibility and by an alternative state of being. Athene appears as a balancing force of grace, intellect, action and conscious awareness within the composition. In Jungian terms she is a projection of Feminine anima within the male psyche that in Picasso’s case is screaming to be assimilated, rather than being exploded into Cubist fragments as a potential threat. Argentine artist Leonor Fini’s (1907-1996) foreground vision of Feminine self-possession; The Alcove (1939, Oil on canvas, West dean College, part of the Edward James Foundation) is another magnificent example of foreground creative Femininity (in this case within and in front of the canvas. ) On painting Fini remarked: “I strike it, stalk it, try to make it obey me. Then in its disobedience, it forms something I like.” This intuitive, instinctual approach to making Art, acknowledging the artist as a conduit, is balanced by her undeniable mastery of the medium. As in so many Surrealist works, contradictory ideas dynamically co-exist and new ways of seeing emerge. In The Alcove Fini skilfully sets the historical stage of expectation and then subverts it completely, creating tension and the need for imaginative resolution in the mind of the viewer. In Dadaist Art that tension is a knife edge, much more overtly critical of the powers that be-the inclusion of work by George Grosz in the exhibition gives the viewer a potent taste of this quality.

Aus der Sammlung Aus einem ethnographischen Museum [From the collection From an ethnographical museum], 1929

Hannah HOCH (1889-1978) Aus der Sammlung: Aus einem ethnographischen Museum [From the collection: From an ethnographical museum], 1929. Mixed media, collage and gouache on paper. Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995 © DACS 2016.

Also created during the inter-war /Weimar period, Hannah Höch’s collage Aus einem ethnographischen Museum / From the Collection: From an Ethnographical Museum (1929, collage, SNGMA, Edinburgh, Bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995) is a fascinating visualisation of Feminine and Ethnological “otherness”.  Höch’s striking image combines an indigenous carved mask like the head of a deity with a female eye cut from a contemporary magazine. Colonised into Modern Art the human figure looks startled, looking over her shoulder with a quizzical, alarmed expression, also confronting the viewer in that moment with their own act of seeing and attributing meaning. There is a distinct feeling of violation conveyed by this disembodied eye set at a distressed angle, recalling the often painted Biblical tale of Susannah and the Elders; the self-consciousness anxiety of being seen as an object to be conquered and being subjected to a gaze which essentially frames you as subordinate. The body which is androgynous and child-like is combined with a bestial foot and tiny stool-like plinth beneath; a hybrid of ancient knowing, innocence, naivety and instinct. Höch positions the figure on an abstract, cage –like ground of geometric forms, juxtaposing Western ideas about Primitivism with collectively inherited values of a dominant “civilized” tribe. She calls into question Western attitudes towards “the other”, presenting the statuette object, “From the Collection: From the Ethnographical Museum” as a conscious human presence. It’s the emotional impact of Höch’s collage that hits you viscerally, the museum type categorisation turned on its head by Feminine resistance.

Resistance to the dominant gaze takes many unexpected forms in the exhibition. Salvador Dali ‘s The City of Drawers (Study for The Anthropomorphic Cabinet , 1936, Pen and Indian ink on paper , Private Collection, Formerly collection of Edward James) is a surprisingly insightful image of modernity. The female nude in the foreground extends her decaying arm and palm as if to ward off persistent assault. Her torso is a construction of drawers, drawer knobs and a key hole becoming erogenous, her face buried in the top drawer as if bowed in sorrowful resignation. Only a tattered rag can be seen coming out of the seemingly empty inner structure. The eye of the viewer is led by her hand into the mid ground of curvaceous discarded drawers, then into the distance where two seated women are similarly composed, one of them searching for herself in the open top drawer of her chest. Beyond we see gentile silhouettes moving through a cityscape, the reality of the foreground more vivid and arresting than the receding world of urban familiarity. This image of Dali’s Anthropomorphic Cabinet; a reclining Venus transformed by Freud’s theories, embodying an inner world of unconscious drives, is also an image of society. In the painted version a well to do woman in silhouette walks away into the background as if in denial of the open drawers of psychic revelation revealed by her other (or collective) self in the foreground. The element of display here is more complex than a reclining Venus arranged for seduction and the result more unsettling; a personification of civilization in decay.

La poupée, 19361965 by Hans BELLMER

Hans BELLMER (1902-1975) La poupée [The Doll], 1936/1965.Aluminium with gold-patinated bronze base, 50 x 27 x 25cm. Collection: Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg/ Pietzsche Collection.

It would be impossible to talk about the feminine aspects of this show and not address the elephant in the room; i.e. the male surrealist preoccupation with the Feminine as object(s) of desire. The most disturbing manifestation of this tendency towards sexual objectification is undoubtedly the work of Hans Bellmer.  In La poupée / The Doll (Aluminium with gold-patinated bronze base, 1936/1965 Hamburger Kunsthalle, Hamburg/ Pietzsche Collection) he utilises the seductive high shine patina of a lustrous, reflective metal sculpture, elevating the repulsive hybridised  twin form of a pubescent girl/ doll onto a plinth. Engineered to satisfy his own gaze, Bellmer confronts the viewer with the framing devices of high art, introducing in the context of the gallery space an image of dominance, power and sexual objectification.  The girl hinges in upon herself as a contorted, inverted object, dehumanised and mechanistic, beyond Nature but subject to the artist’s nature and will. More disturbing still is the placement of Bellmer’s sculpted dolls in different settings, recorded photographically by the artist like sociopathic trophies. La poupée / The Doll (1935, Gelatin and silver print, The Ulla and Heiner Pietzsch Collection, Berlin.) is an example of Surrealism in its darkest form; projected fantasies realised in an assemblage of objects, arranged for gratification of the artist but also by implication, the viewer in the act of looking. Even if we turn away in disgust, the feeling is still of complicity in that white columned Art space. What Bellmer brings the 2016 viewer face to face with is a culture of consumption and sexualisation that is aesthetically and socially accepted. His crafting of objects and images when coupled with his underlying subject matter calls Art itself into question. Although I find his work deeply abhorrent, it is also a good example of work which makes the viewer confront the darkest corners of the human psyche, manifested today in the Surreality of cyberspace or the dark web where any desire can be made real. The work of Hans Bellmer reminds us that freedom of expression, now so prevalent in the visual/ textual bombardment of our digital age, also comes with responsibility to something greater than the gratification of our own desires. Presented as objects of beauty Bellmer’s creations are incredibly sinister, but they are also windows into the human mind and what we are capable of as a species.  Most of us would prefer not to look, to label the work and its maker, filing both away and thereby placing the internal threat outside ourselves. Perhaps in this way Bellmer is a Surrealist artist par excellence in making the unthinkable visible.

Coin de chasteté [Wedge of Chastity], 1954 1963

Marcel DUCHAMP (1887-1968) Coin de chasteté [Wedge of Chastity], 1954 / 1963. Sculpture, bronze and dental plastic, 5.5 x 8.5 x 4.2 cm. Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995.© Succession Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2016.

Marcel Duchamp’s Coin de chasteté/ Wedge of Chastity (1954/63, Bronze and dental plastic, SNGMA, Edinburgh, Bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995) is also an object of implied violence with hard bronze cleft into pink, glistening dental plastic. There is the suggestion of possession in the Wedge of Chastity; of female sexuality effectively plugged by the more permanent and more highly valued material of ancient bronze, over and above the disposability of plastic. Feuille de vigne femelle / Female Fig Leaf (1950/61, Bronze, SNGMA, Edinburgh, Bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995) is a more dualistic object; on the one hand enshrining a cast of female genitalia in bronze but also suggesting modesty, even shame in the fig leaf, recalling the Garden of Eden and by implication the Fall from grace initiated (according to the Old Testament) by Eve. Apparently the only way to keep female desire in check is to dam it. The dichotomy of Duchamp’s fig leaf as a representation of the Feminine lies in its disempowerment, functioning rather like a drain cover, whilst being an object cast in a permanently exposed, tactile state .  Although I’m sure Duchamp would have viewed this object as an expression of eroticism, it feels like a medieval door nailed shut rather than blissfully opened in the spirit of free love.

Feuille de vigne femelle [Female Fig Leaf], 1950 1961

Marcel DUCHAMP (1887-1968) Coin de chasteté [Wedge of Chastity], 1954 / 1963. Sculpture, bronze and dental plastic, 5.5 x 8.5 x 4.2 cm. Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, bequeathed by Gabrielle Keiller 1995.© Succession Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2016.

Max Ernst’s painting Gala, Max and Paul 1923, oil on canvas, The Ulla and Heiner Pietzsch Collection, Berlin) is a fascinating image; a depiction of the ménage a trois between Ernst, Gala (Elena Ivanovna Diakonova), and her first husband, the poet Paul Éluard, representing the Feminine in an unexpectedly powerful light. Charged between the cool blues and rich ochre of Ernst’s palette, the female protagonist retains her mystery. She is an immediately foreground presence and remarkably underexposed. Her face is turning away from the viewer, half in shadow, becoming the ground of the painting. Anchored to a plinth like a Modernist sculpture, she also creates a sense of anticipation, movement and tension in the sheet that she holds by a thread which spills into the viewer’s space. At face value it’s a gesture of coquettish puppetry, Ernst visualising the human experience of having the world pulled out from under you by desire. But it is also an earthily sensual and grounded image, tangibly real in its abstraction. Ernst and Eluard appear as doll-like figures in the background, leaning into each other in intimate contemplation of Gala.  Her svelte figure in a backless gown, appears like a mermaid, split and tapered down to the sensuous curve of her hand, which like her hollowed eye, draws the viewer deeper into the abyss of the background. She is resoundingly present, part of the depth of the painting and aware of her own power- there’s a sense of what is withheld as well as what is on display. The male figures appear school boyish and immature in relation to the world of the painting, which is her. The viewer is caught off balance by these dynamics and by the unexpected acknowledgement of Gala as an independent being. We are made aware of a mind, connected to her body – a presence which we never see in vacant portraits of Gala by her second husband Salvador Dali, who binds her erotically in his own pictorial technique.

Dorothea Tanning’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik /A Little Night Music (1943, Oil on canvas, Tate Gallery, London) is a beautiful example of revealing that which is hidden and bringing it into conscious awareness. It is a vision flawlessly executed by a truly masterful artist. On an otherworldly, red carpeted landing and stair case a decaying sunflower, petals strewn with creeping green stems aligns with the fourth in a series of numbered doors, left ajar and sunlit from within. Two doll-like girls, their hair suspended in mid-air as if submerged underwater stand adjacent to each other. One leans half undressed, slumbering in a doorway, a fallen petal in her hand. Acidic green walls contrast with the opposing warmth of her red jacket. The tattered clothing of the girl not facing us mirrors the forms of creeping stems, broken and beginning the process of decay. It is a subterranean image of burgeoning awareness, awakening in dreams. Tanning reflects the altered, transitional state of female adolescence, rendered in painterly hyper reality more perceptively real than life. Unlike Bellmer’s depictions, these pubescent girls inhabit their own interior world, un-beholden to the viewer and aligned with natural cycles of human growth. Tanning’s painting Voltage (1942, Oil on canvas, The Ulla and Heiner Pietzsch Collection, Berlin) also depicts a transformative process of becoming in female form. In the absence of the head, a coiled plait of blonde hair attached to the nipple exposes an internal circuitry of self-possession. The pale torso is contrasted with an oceanic background of turquoise green in the birth of a new kind of Venus. She beholds herself, disembodied blue eyes held in repose by an elegant, manicured hand. Like a headless Classical goddess of antiquity, the serpentine curves of drapery and hair adorn and animate the female body in a process of deconstruction. She is her own muse.

Leonora Carrington’s beautifully ethereal, Bosch-like vision The House Opposite (1945, Tempera on board, West Dean College, part of the Edward James Foundation) displays her delicate command of tempera. The house appears as a labyrinth of the mind rendered with the devotional detail and palette of an illuminated manuscript. Carrington’s conservative English upbringing informs Ladies Run There is a Man in the Rose Garden (1948, Tempera on wood, The Ulla and Heiner Pietzsch Collection, Berlin), a delightfully humorous but incredibly grounded image, which has comic kinship with the work of illustrator and designer Edward Gorey (1925-2000). Carrington’s juxtaposition of the walled garden inhabited by Edwardian ladies, invaded by a Green Man is an intricate, playful and extraordinary work, etched in ghostly negative, seemingly scratched out of a richly fecund, umber ground of timeless earth. The sky precipitates dawn and groups of associative figures animate narratives intertwined in non-linear time. A heron, cat and monkey with their attendant meanings sitting on the chest / stomach of an outstretched figure in bed and the positive silhouettes of birds and animals receding into the background create a natural sense of archetypal. This image is all the ancient knowing invested in prehistoric Rock Art colliding with the genteel restraint of illustrative storytelling. One of the escaping veiled ladies points with her umbrella to a fishing hook suspended like a noose, while making an exit out of the frame on the far right, a woman in a broad skirt wearing a tribal headdress disappears into negative space. There’s an imprint here, like the ancient Aboriginal technique of blowing paint over the hand to recreate the imaginative space left by the Dreaming of our ancestors. Carrington was and is a Surrealist master who was dismayed at being described as a “Female Artist”. Unfortunately things have not yet progressed sufficiently in the Art World to make the term completely irrelevant in terms of acquisition, display and public awareness.

I loved this show for its richness and expanded frame of reference, the archival material bringing context to the work and the imperative of collecting Art in an attempt to understand.  As dreamlike as many of these images might be, they are built on strong, resistant foundations that still have the power to make us question everything we think we know about the world and ourselves. One of the dynamics that makes this exhibition so strong is engagement with the Feminine on the part of private collectors, curators and within the creative process of individual artists, both male and female. Spend time in this exhibition, allow your perceptions to shift and bring that heightened awareness into your life.

.9Ê

René MAGRITTE (1898-1967) La reproduction interdite (Not to be Reproduced) ,1937.Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam © Beeldrecht Amsterdam 2007. Photographer: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam© ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2015.

The Scottish National Galleries website has a series of introductory online videos on each of the four collectors/ collections in the  the Surreal Encounters ; Collecting the Marvellous exhibition:

https://www.nationalgalleries.org/whatson/on-now-coming-soon/surreal-encounters/about-the-exhibition-23687

Reflections on An Linne

Jon Schueler Centenary Symposium and Exhibition

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, Isle of Skye. 27-29 May.

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1973, Jon Schueler in his studio in Mallaig, Scotland. Photo: Magda Salvesen

How refreshing it is to have Art spoken or written about as a living thing! It is a rare convergence when an artist’s work finds its way back to the land and seascape that gave birth to it, accompanied by a circle of intimate reflections from family, friends and colleagues. The An Linne: Echoes, Reflections and Transfigurations symposium held at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig UHI, on the Isle of Skye was a unique event; the opportunity to focus exclusively upon the life, work and impact of an artist who turned his back on the New York art world, moving to Mallaig on the Northwest coast of Scotland from 1957-58 and 1970-75. Overlooking the Sound of Sleat Schueler immersed himself in the elusive, fluid spaces between land, sea and sky overlooking, grappling with the true North within.  The confrontational Art of painting and the ultimate joy and terror of life expressed in his paintings, transcend their time and place. At the heart of Schueler’s work is “the search” and the struggle of acknowledging what we are as human beings and being authentically who we are as individuals.

Having spent way too many hours of my life listening to academics kill the meaning and joy of Art by drowning it in their own vocabulary, it was a real delight to see such a multi-faceted and heartfelt celebration of an artist’s work. Hearing the perspectives of those who knew, loved and worked with John Schueler, combined with those exploring “the deepening North” he was vitally drawn to was a real privilege. The core of his work was expressed and explored in many different ways; in words, music, through Gaelic language, painting, film, photography and at times, overwhelmingly, beyond them all in silence. The symposium offered a wide range of speakers from different backgrounds; Magda Salvesen, Jon Schueler’s widow and curator of his estate; Professor Meg Bateman, Sabhal Mòr Ostaig; Dr Lindsay Blair, UHI; Mary Ann Caws, Professor of English, French, and Comparative Literature, City University of New York; Richard Demarco, CBE; Kenneth Dingwall, artist; Marian Leven RSA, artist; Will Maclean RSA; Dr Anne MacLeod; Professor Duncan Macmillan; Angus Martin, poet and historian; Dr John Purser, Sabhal Mòr Ostaig; Marissa Roth,  photographer, writer and curator; Carl Schmitz, Visual Resources & Art Research Librarian, The Richard Diebenkorn Foundation; Dr Joanna Soden HRSA; Finlay Finlayson who chaired a discussion with members of the Mallaig fishing community; Rob Fairley, Hamish Smith and Will Maclean; Professor Jim Mooney, artist and writer; Helmut Lemke ,sound artist, Jon Schueler Scholarship Artist 2014 and Oliver Mezger ,film artist, Jon Schueler Scholarship Artist 2015.

This gathering and the exhibition of selected oils, water colours and drawings from Schueler’s Mallaig years, together with the work of Jon Schueler Scholarship recipients 2013 – 2015, Takeshi Shikama, Helmut Lemke & Oliver Mezger, are part of a wider programme of events in the US and the UK celebrating the centenary of the artist’s birth. Seeing Schueler’s work exhibited at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig provides a unique opportunity to view his paintings juxtaposed with the natural environment outside, looking directly across the Sound of Sleat to Mallaig. It was a pleasure to see his paintings inhabiting this space; of shifting light, time and weather and being able inhabit them in such an immediate way as a viewer. There are many painters inspired by the landscape of the Highlands and Islands, but what separates the good from the great is arguably the capacity not just to “paint Nature” in a pictorial sense, but to “paint about Nature”, interpreting and expressing what it is to be truly present in the face of it. As Schueler expressed it; “the mystery is Nature and we are part of Nature.” Confronted with Nature’s elements and raw pigment, there’s nowhere for the artist to hide.

There is nothing Romantic about the process of making Art. In reality creative genius is always tethered to flesh and blood, human vulnerability and frailty. Equally vision and aspiration; striving to know the unknowable, unceasingly desiring what is just beyond reach, grappling with what we sense and see in fleeting moments of recognition are essential qualities for artists whose work resoundingly survives them . It is in the act of making that human beings find their divinity, closest to the truth of what we are and what we’re capable of, poised somewhere between heaven and hell.  The Art of painting is founded in a struggle with the medium and with oneself. It’s that essential creative drive to make sense of ourselves, the world within and without, coupled with our capacity for destruction and annihilation that defines us as a species. From his experiences during WWII to the confrontation of the studio, Schueler was intimately and intensely familiar with both tendencies. As a navigator, flying directly towards enemy fighters and gunfire, Schueler was confronted by imminent death and what he called the “failure” of his survival on a daily basis. This aerial vantage point, right on a psychic edge of consciousness, between the immediate possibilities of life or death, is relived over and over in his paintings.

On the first evening of the conference Richard Demarco highlighted the profound and lasting effect of WWII on an entire generation; an observance normally referenced as a generationally distanced footnote in the discussion of an artist’s work. He spoke passionately about the physical and psychological effects of the war and about his own experience during a bombing raid at Portobello Beach, Edinburgh, as a child; waving to the fighter crews and picking up still warm shell casings from the sand, innocently taking them home. Much later in the early 1980’s at the Talbot Rice Gallery in Edinburgh, Demarco brought together lived wartime experience from opposite sides of the conflict in a meeting between Joseph Beuys and Jon Schueler. Within this gesture is the ethical imperative of Art and Art practice as the most powerful means of understanding and transformation that we possess; an ancient, Celtic idea which Beuys identified strongly with. Demarco’s perspective on Schueler’s work, like his reference to Martel’s “Reclaiming Art in the Age of Artifice” was very much about individual “ego dissolved into something bigger”. It is in the cosmic scale and unfathomable presence of Nature, that Schueler came face to face with his own. All of life’s questions were projected into the concept and physicality of his Northern skies; all of his joy, passion and rage, the unknowable Mother lost to him soon after birth and the Goddess Nature, mirrored in his own soul, cloaked by male desire. As Jim Mooney described, the “primacy of touch”, the innate sensitivity in Schueler’s Art, makes us aware of the duality of light within and without, which obscures as much as it illuminates. In Schueler’s own words; “rending veils of self-deception in the sky”, part of an eternal process of human creation and longing.

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1970, Jon Schueler in his studio, Romasaig, Mallaig. Photo: Magda Salvesen.

Schueler’s painting is immediate and gestural, grounded in loneliness, the guilt of survival and his parallel journeys into the psychological, interior worlds of Abstract Expressionism and his own true North. As Mary Ann Caw eloquently described; “The North is wanting”. In a painting such as Grey Sky Shadow, III (1974, oil on canvas) there is a palpable sense of a warm blush of orange, elusively hovering and emerging through the opaque subtlety of mauve-greys.  The colour drawing the eye is pushed to the edge of the composition as if in another passing second it will vanish beyond reach again. Broad brush marks rendered with a delicate touch reveal the artist’s sensibility in that moment. Seeking a connection with something greater and more enduring than ourselves is not a matter of cerebral indulgence but a holistic act of survival.

There is a long artistic tradition of Romantic engagement with Nature – or to be more accurate, the human eye and mind perceiving it and this is certainly one of many pathways into Schueler’s Art.  Jim Moodie made the connection between the artist’s work and one of my favourite texts as an undergraduate; Rosenblum’s Modern Painting and the Northern Romantic Tradition: Friedrich to Rothko.  The pure inspiration and the great void of Friederich’s Monk by the Sea (painted between 1808 and 1810) has much in common with the human presence, emotional gravitas and intellectual trajectory of a Rothko or a Schueler painting.

Carl Smitz’s wonderful discussion of American Abstract Expressionism revealed another ethical dimension to Schueler’s practice; in Robert Motherwell’s insistence on sheer presence, invention and resolution through painting and in Ad Reinhardt’s witty cartoon; asserting that painting “is alive if you are!”Reinhardt challenges the viewer, like the artist, to define the ground upon which they stand. As Mary Ann Caw commented, Schueler’s “presentness” in his painting, his “creative anger” and “refusal of passivity” can be felt in the “residue” of his paintings. The confrontation of what we stand for collectively and culturally was also explored in Meg Bateman’s paper; “A Gaelic Way of Seeing? on language determinism, part of a much wider ongoing debate and reappraisal of the Visual in Gaelic Culture.

The question mark within the title originates from the evolution of modern Gaelic; becoming progressively more aligned with English translation and therefore describing rather than attributing values and meanings to the naming of colour as part of an indigenous world view.  Scales of colour were once understood “as part of a process” and in more holistic terms; in “varying scales of saturation, shininess and hue”, rather than being narrowly defined, or labelled. Connected with the natural world and its cycles, the historical Gaelic colour terms “appear to have been based on several different axes- on the degree of saturation, ranging between rich and pale, on the degree of reflectivity, between matt and shiny, on temperature and on the degree of patterning, between multi-coloured and plain. Domain further defined hue.”  In older Gaelic word usage, shininess and saturation of colour reflect cultural aspiration; attributing “praiseworthy” qualities or conversely, “contemptible” dullness. This sophisticated, multi-layered understanding of colour goes beyond simple translations of “green” or “brown” in English, revealing a different mindscape within the land and seascape of the Gaidhealtachd.

This innate connectivity of old Gaelic as a visual language arguably finds its closest translation today in the work of visual artists (regardless of their native tongue), whose chosen mode of expression is far less susceptible to language determinism. Drawing on an ancient vocabulary of understanding that existed in previous centuries highlights another level of loss and appropriation of language.  What we see in Schueler’s nuanced palette/ paint handling or in that of contemporary Scottish Artist Marian Leven is a close affinity with subtle scales of colour found in Nature and uniquely in the North of Scotland, defining ways of seeing and cultural values that fundamentally differ from dominant Western consumer culture. Leven’s observation about the “remoteness” of sky/ eye line of Manhattan compared to the North of Scotland, where the eye is level with the coastal horizon, a line “that embraces you like a mother” and the sense of continuity this imbues is extremely insightful in this respect. Bateman’s paper caused me to reflect a great deal upon what it means to be an artist and what our use of language; verbal, written or visual, says about collective cultural values and aspirations, our propensity for creative renewal and our capacity for survival.

The Highlands and Islands are often defined in terms of parochial remoteness, occupying a place in the global imagination right on “the edge of Europe” , however as Marian Leven rightly pointed out, this depends entirely on where your starting point is. Although Schueler chose to live and work in relative geographical isolation in the Northwest of Scotland, the scope of his work is a potent reminder that “the whole point of looking into is looking beyond”.

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December 1970, Jon Schueler at the door of Romasaig. Photo: Magda Salvesen.

http://www.jonschueler.com

http://www.smo.uhi.ac.uk/en/ealain-is-cultar/jon-schueler-centenary-symposium/

The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Film 16 – 20 March, Bo’ness

HippFest Stella DallasStella Dallas (1925) Image courtesy of The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Film.

“In many of the films now being made, there is very little cinema: they are mostly what I call ‘photographs of people talking.’ When we tell a story in cinema we should resort to dialogue only when it’s impossible to do otherwise.”

“The silent pictures were the purest forms of Cinema.”

Alfred Hitchcock.

There is nothing quite like the live experience of Silent Film to reconnect us to the power of pure visual storytelling. Coupled with the immediacy of sound every performance is unique, appealing to our basic human need for connection and illumination. From the earliest flickers of light on cave walls to projected images on the cinema screen, it’s here in the dark that we make sense of ourselves, individually and collectively. The Silent era is a wellspring of creative innovation and imaginative possibilities, testing the boundaries of the new medium in visionary ways. If you wanted effects in the early days of film you had to hands on invent them, grappling and redefining your Craft in the process. For contemporary artists/ musicians and audiences, stripping the medium back to the clarity of black and white with musical accompaniment, experienced directly by the audience, is a creatively liberating experience.  In the hands of the right accompanist(s) an entirely different relationship between moving images and sound emerges. It isn’t about lazy emotional button pushing, providing sound effects, an overlaid decorative soundtrack or the ego of the musician(s) on stage. At its best Silent Film accompaniment is the Art of placing the film centre stage- taking your cues directly from what the film projects into your own soul, mirrored in the hearts and minds of the audience. At its highest level it’s an Art of interpretation rather than illustration, integrating sound and image to such a degree that as a viewer it becomes impossible to consciously separate them.

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The Hippodrome Cinema, Bo’ness. Image Courtesy of The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema.

Now in its 6th year, The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema is an annual event unlike any other, bringing the best Silent Film accompanists in the world to Bo’ness every March. Held in Scotland’s oldest purpose built picture house (opened in March 1912) and other sites in the town, it’s the perfect place to rediscover Film. The atmosphere of the Hippodrome is intimately spacious, combining a sense of community with a celestial high domed ceiling of deep indigo peppered with stars and a rising sun above the screen, decoratively restored circa 1926. Night and day are perceptively under one roof and enfolded in the circular embrace of the architecture, you feel part of the seemingly infinite space above, ready to be transported beyond the everyday. The building is reminiscent of an astronomical observatory or a pre-Deco temple of dreams and illuminations. Heightened perception and the collective experience of Cinema is part of the architectural design and also central to the appeal of a festival “where Movies and Music come alive” through palpable energy of live performance.

Musical improvisation in direct response to film is a particularly skilled Art of being absolutely present in the moment, aurally serving the story/ vision on screen and communicating human experience sonically with the audience. Over the years I’ve watched many orchestras, ensembles and soloists accompany Silent Film, but I have seldom seen a more complete union of Craft, musicianship, artistry, intuition and expression than in the extraordinary duo of Stephen Horne (piano, flute, accordion) and Frank Bockius (percussion).  Their interpretation of Ewald André Dupont’s Variety (1925), harnessed the raw emotion and human complexity beneath the story of love, lust, moral corruption and redemption. Set in the circus carnival world of Hamburg and the theatre that was Weimar Berlin, it is the ill-fated tale of an unknown orphaned female immigrant, named after the cursed ship Berte Marie which brings her to port and into the life of a married carnival owner. Leading the audience deeper into the light and shade of the human psyche Horne and Bockius are perfectly matched. Although the duo has played at film festivals internationally, this was the first UK performance by Bockius, a collaboration made possible by the support of the Goethe –Institut, Glasgow. The level of applause from the audience clearly demonstrated that I wasn’t alone in being transfixed and elated by their satisfyingly layered interpretation. With no fixed score, the singular energy and intensity of their performance produced an unforgettable cinematic experience, one that simply cannot be replicated by any form of technology that currently exists or has yet to be invented. Between celluloid and sound the human connection was absolute.

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Actor Emil Jannings in Variety (1925) Image courtesy of The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema

Being in the service of cinematic storytelling is a quality shared by both artists and from the first note to the last the result was totally immersive. Variety is a film which like the paintings of Otto Dix, George Grosz and Max Beckmann portrays humanity’s base instincts, the sharp off kilter rhythms of a society wrestling with its own demise, lost in sensual distractions of the dance hall, cabaret and brothel, poised on a knife edge of human passion and obsession. Introduced by a drumroll of spectacle and channelling the spirit of Kurt Weill with entertaining unease, Horne and Bockius established in their opening sequence the moral compass of this work which is a good deal more complex than David Cairns’s accompanying film notes would suggest.  The aural stage is set in alignment with tone and inner conflicts of the film, like the self-reflexive irony of the “Parisian Beauty Pageant”, a parade of dishevelled and dispossessed humanity placed on an inverted side show pedestal.

The beauty of this performance was the way that the internal motivations and impulses of the characters (which we share regardless of what age we live in) are revealed. Sound becoming integral to how we read film might seem like an obvious observation, were it not for the lack of this skill in much mainstream filmmaking and the consequent dulling of our collective senses. In the hands of Horne and Bockius accompaniment is more than a soundtrack, it’s integral to film’s internal architecture- emotionally, intuitively and intellectually, which is what made this performance so satisfying. Drums were used as a potent undercurrent of unconscious drives rather than an obvious illustrative driver. It’s achieving a deeper level of musical dialogue which makes this subtle duo such distinctive and consummate performers. The anticipatory combination of snare drums, coupled with the snake-like deception of the flute when ambiguous Femme Fatale Berte Marie transforms desire into persuasion is masterful. There was a musical knife edge lived in this performance that captured beautifully the moral dilemmas of the characters and the prevailing Zietgeist; transitional moments of complicity when a dutiful husband abandons his wife and becomes a murderer, surrendering to his passions and abandoning reason. This sense of teetering on the brink of moral collapse was communicated magnificently in sound and image, enhancing our experience of a largely unknown film and bringing its themes vividly to life through direct engagement with our internal and external senses.

This quality, like the world on screen has an immediate physicality; it’s in the blood beat raw energy of unbridled, exuberant Jazz, the plucked interior strings of the piano resonating in the nervous system, the heavy breath bellows of the accordion and in the melodic shame that twists like Carnival owner “Boss” Huller (Emil Jannings) fingers through his belt when the awkward truth of his adultery is exposed.  The way we experience the film as a live performance is simultaneously visceral and cerebral, triggered by inner projections of sound that enable us to discern more than just black and white morality or simplistic Melodrama. The precarious trapeze movement of Karl Freund’s “unchained camera” is coupled with the concentrated power of the close up, enabling audience identification with the human face and emotional trajectory of the film. The escalation of tension throughout this performance wasn’t loudly announced but crept in like the emotive power of jealousy itself. In the ticking suspense of night a Tibetan singing bowl scrapes and chimes with Huller’s inner torment; realising that the woman he has abandoned his wife and child for is sleeping with his acrobatic partner. In a café scene where he sees cartoon confirmation of this deceit, tension and Drama build in the scraped lower register of piano and crescendo of cymbals, a vibration of trembling emotion, surfacing in anger and causing the room to spin.  Back in the dressing room preparing for the show, applying ghostly grease paint like a sad clown, we hear Huller’s resolve in the plodding rhythm of the piano adding emotional gravitas to the resignation we see contained in his desolate eyes. This isn’t cause and effect sound tracking but something far more nuanced, psychologically real and inwardly complex. The tone and human step of the piano conveys the loss of all happiness we see in Huller’s face and posture, in unison with the drum and skull motifs on the acrobat’s costumes which portend the entwined fates of the three unhappy lovers. I feel certain that if the author of the accompanying film notes had experienced this particular performance with its inner depth and insightful range of sound, his perception of Variety would be significantly expanded- because that’s exactly what great live accompaniment does. Over five days Hipp Fest provides opportunities to experience something spectacularly unique in cinematic terms and to reappraise how we watch, enjoy, appreciate and make films. It’s an experience that can’t be replicated at home watching a DVD, a posting on You Tube or seeing film on any reductively small screen.

The crowd pleasing Laurel and Hardy 1928 triple bill; From Soup to Nuts, We Faw Down, and Liberty accompanied by John Sweeney (piano) and Frank Bockius (percussion) was pure unadulterated enjoyment where the musical and comic timing resoundingly equalled each other. I can’t begin to explain why having a crab in your pants up a skyscraper scaffold or poking someone’s throat so they stick out their tongue is so damn funny! It’s a brand of physical comedy never goes out of style; universally timeless human foibles and outlandish scenarios stacked one on top of the other until all you can do is collapse in a heap with laughter, wiping the tears and cream pie out of your eyes. I haven’t had that much fun in a cinema for a long time, the accelerated pace and set up of visual gags brilliantly enhanced by the sheer quality of musicianship. Laughter really is the best medicine, especially when it’s shared.

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Betty Bronson as Peter Pan, Image courtesy of The Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema.

Harpist Elizabeth-Jane Baldry’s interpretation of Herbert Brenon’s Peter Pan (1924) was a moving, magical experience of childhood wonderment and adult recognition.  True to the spirit of J.M.Barrie, who encouraged his audience regardless of age to see again through the eyes of a child, Baldry’s musical alignment with the film’s themes; loss of childhood innocence, the nature of motherhood and unconditional love, made this more than a whimsical fantasy for children. An early work by master cinematographer James Wong Howe, the film’s luminous, enchanting imagery, beautifully crafted special effects of fairies and flights of imagination are tempered with human fragility. The direct appeal to the audience; “do you believe” in fairies? to save Tinkerbell could easily have felt like pantomime, but Baldry’s musical interpretation of this film created the environment for a deeper level of perception. This moment of communal applause and engagement from the audience felt more about the magic of cinema and the collective function of storytelling, linked to the ancient bardic tradition of the harp, than just an amusing theatrical device. The direct appeal to camera presents the viewer with a mirror. How do we know who we are and what tribe we belong to? Art, Poetry, Music and in the case of Cinema, all three combined. In her introduction to the film Elizabeth-Jane Baldry highlighted the near loss of this explosively volatile silver nitrate film and the truly miraculous rediscovery/ restoration of the only surviving print in the world. Her performance naturally invoked childhood memory and I think for adults in the audience this was not without the acknowledgement and poignancy of loss. The harp is the perfect instrument to express this delicate vulnerability, the joyful state of eternal youth and the imaginative space that is Neverland. Exploring the timbre of the instrument through tactile sound; hands and metal on strings and the harp’s sound board, Baldry created a sense of the essential, ephemeral nature of human life; the loss and resistance we feel at different stages of maturation and the imaginative wonder that sets us free.

Early Chinese Cinema was brought into focus at this year’s Hipp Fest with a series of screenings and events in collaboration with the Confucius Institute for Scotland and the University of Edinburgh. John Sweeney’s sensitive accompaniment to Sun Yu’s Daybreak (1933), starring Li Lili was a captivating study of society, politics and gender in a time of rapid industrial modernisation. The film encodes natural/rural and urban environments with the morality of good and evil, virtue and corruption, yet the human element of the drama is fascinatingly harder to define. The dynamics of the central female character; an innocent country girl sold into prostitution who becomes a strong willed, defiant, self-sacrificing woman, embodies the conflicted ambiguities of violence, revolution and the human cost of an emerging nation, driven by production. Daybreak also reflected the emphasis on silent women at Hipp Fest 2016, celebrating the work of (now lesser known) stars of the era such as Pola Negri, Beatrice Lillie, Anita Garvin and Marion Byron.

Hipp Fest has established a tradition of commissioning and touring new scores for Silent Film including this year’s world premiere of Hans Walter Kornblum’s Wunder der Schöpfung (Wonder of Creation 1925) with accompaniment composed and performed by Jazz duo Hershel 36. The stars being in alignment in terms of the band’s name, interest in space and a strong family connection with astronomy would have made this film an obvious choice, however gravitating towards what you know is not always the most creative or ultimately satisfying option for the artist(s) or the audience. Although the early animation and perceptions of space are of technical /historical interest, this episodic fusion of science, religion and fiction in seven parts has the overwhelming tone of an educational lecture, begging the accompanist to delve into its documentary subtext. I got the feeling that engagement with Silent Film was primarily a vehicle for Hershel 36 the band, rather than an opportunity to significantly push the creative boat out. There were hints of exploration in terms of the spatial qualities of sound which could have been developed further, but too often this promise gave way to snippets of synth soundtrack reminiscent of Blade Runner or The Clangers. For such expansive subject matter the accompaniment felt frustratingly narrow, although to be fair experimentation and experience in working with Silent Film are necessary for a deeper level of interpretation which the timescale of a single commission doesn’t usually permit. With the calibre of accompaniment at the festival so outstandingly high, I found this new score disappointingly obvious and hope that if Hershel 36 choose to accompany Silent Film again, they challenge themselves and the audience, dig deeper into their primary source material and really come to grips cross-disciplinary practice. Enthusiasm for your own music isn’t enough when it comes to accompanying Silent Film, you’ve got to examine your intent (it’s not about you it’s about the film) and refine your Craft as an artist (or group)in response to what’s on screen- doubly so in a professional arena where the bar is set so comparably high. Anything less than that looks and sounds painfully superficial and artistically self-indulgent, whatever the musical style. The finest performances at the festival were those that altered or enhanced perception of what was projected on screen. I am still thinking about them and I know I’ll remember them months and years from now.

With over 25 years’ experience in the Art of Silent Film accompaniment, musician and composer Stephen Horne is an artist who consistently raises the bar. The world premiere of his newly commissioned score for Henry King’s Stella Dallas (1925), written for piano, flute, accordion and harp and performed with Elizabeth-Jane Baldry was a highlight of the festival. The story of a mother’s love and sacrifice for her daughter is the story of parents the world over who want their children to have a better life than the one they were born into. In Stella Dallas the cost of the American dream; of bettering yourself, rising above poverty and circumstance, comes at enormous personal cost. Francis Marion’s screenplay presents complex portrayals of Motherhood, the Mother/ Daughter relationship, class, social mobility and the modern familial realities of separation, divorce and re-marriage. From the opening sequence in Springtime there’s the dappled light of Romance in the score but also the presence of underlying shadows; no love without loss.  The main melodic theme introduced by the piano is naturally fluid, open and humanely fragile; a sweet melodic line that fades out with passing time and first love lost. Refreshingly Horne knows how and when to use silence and his sensitive orchestration informs our perception of the inner state of the characters. In many insightful ways the contradictions between what Stella appears to be in the eyes of the world and polite society and who she is are explored musically.

From the beginning the score enables the viewer to feel the dignity of the main character; a woman from the wrong side of the tracks, who does her best to adopt the right clothes and manners but remains who she is. There is something unreservedly compassionate about the musical/ cinematic frame through which we see Stella that is intuitively empathic, mirrored in the audience’s investment in the character because she is, like all of us, a flawed individual. Stella isn’t an idealised or demonised stereotype of a woman, but a person; instinctively brash, refreshingly direct, gaudy, gauche, “a disaster” of a mother (as she describes herself) but equally governed by innate integrity; a depth of unconditional love for her daughter that seemingly only her rival, her husband’s new wife Mrs Morrison, can understand. The “other woman”/ stepmother isn’t defined stereotypically either and the two women are brought together, united in mutual concern for the wellbeing of Stella’s daughter Laurel. Stella’s sacrifice in exiting her daughter’s life so that Laurel can move in respectable, educated circles and marry the man she loves is grounded in the sad truth, acknowledged by both mothers, that who Stella is isn’t compatible with securing her daughter’s happiness. The dialogue between harp and piano in this scene sets this tone of understanding between the two characters, their civilised acknowledgement of each other played against type and their selfless love for Laurel.

The emotional range of Belle Bennett’s performance as Stella and Stephen Horne’s music bring the viewer to powerful moments of recognition where we physically and emotionally project ourselves into the frame. A sequence where Stella is standing outside in the rain seeing her daughter’s wedding through a window is a particularly fine example. Initially the wedding march is announced grandly on the piano, then hushes as the viewer aurally stands in Stella’s shoes outside. We hear what character hears with all the intimacy and tenderness of the attendant piano. The brightly fluid theme is irrevocably changed; it heightens in tone to a moment of surrender and transformation we see on Stella’s face. We feel acutely in that in this moment, she is happy to die, fulfilled in witnessing her daughter’s happiness, in transcendence of her own destitution. The music acts like a conduit between inner and outer worlds, like the reflections on the window in this scene- the falling rain reflected on Laurel’s face shadowing a loss that has not been fully brought into her conscious awareness, yet there it is emerging in our own.  There is great beauty and impressive restraint in paring down the musical palette, especially in relation to a film dealing with emotive subject matter. We are so used to being emotionally manipulated by mainstream movie soundtracks that to experience the subtleties of what image and sound can be is revelatory.

When Stella reads her daughter’s diary and decides that Laurel would be better off without her, she retreats from the room where her daughter is sleeping into sound, the dark night of her soul through the window is central to the composition within the frame and in the score, the lone flute turning to the isolation of one hand on the piano. We feel Stella turn in on herself in that moment of real time and awakening consciousness, realising what she must do and what she has to lose. It takes humility, artistry and understanding of the human condition to score a film like that, to create a space that feels true to the vision on screen and one that the audience is free to project themselves into without heavy handed, prescriptive musical prompts. Horne and Baldry performed their accompaniment with tremendous skill and understanding, absolutely in the service of the film and there could be no better introduction or experience of Stella Dallas than this performance of Horne’s new score. At its best Cinema humanely connects us all and that shared experience between filmmakers, accompanists and the audience is taken to a whole new level at Hipp Fest. Though I only managed to attend the final two days of the festival the experience was so rich, rewarding and entertaining I would recommend it to anyone, whether you are a film buff or not. It puts the world of talking photographs into perspective and in the hands of the best Silent Film accompanists in the world, the experience of what live Cinema can be is thrilling, inspirational and totally immersive.

www.hippfest.co.uk

www.frankbockius.de

www.stephenhorne.co.uk

www.elizabethjanebaldry.com

 

Fiaradh gu’n Iar: Veering Westerly

WILL MACLEAN 27 February – 26 March 2016, IMAG.

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Storm-Bird Harbinger by Will Maclean, No7 in a series of 12 collages and poems;  A Catechism of the Laws of Storms, in collaboration with poet John Burnside. Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

With due attention, everything is song. John Burnside, Song of a Storm-wave.

I had the pleasure of attending a talk by Will Maclean recently, coinciding with the opening of his latest touring exhibition; Fiaradh gu’n Iar: Veering Westerly at the Inverness Museum and Art Gallery (IMAG). Developed in association with Art First, London and An Lanntair, Stornoway, the show contains striking new work including his collaboration with poet John Burnside; A Catechism of the Laws of Storms and wonderful examples of retrospective works drawn from public and private collections.

There is something seamless and powerfully evocative in Will Maclean’s work that seems to emerge from the collective unconscious, deep below the Plimsoll line. Objects dredged from a vast ocean of human consciousness are potent triggers of memory and narratives, woven in the mind of the artist and the imagination of the viewer. Maclean’s Art is as grounded as it is profound; borne of a Craft of making, a tactile tradition integral to life on and by the sea, part of the artist’s bloodline and inheritance. Described as “artist laureate” of the Highlands and Islands, Maclean’s work has always grappled with the poetics of visual language; sensed and felt in the natural environment he grew up in and woven into the rhythm of sailor’s knots, binding organic and man-made materials together in his work. The skills of an artist, visual poet, engineer and mariner are finely honed in his box constructions, drawings, collages, screen prints, sculptural installations and monumental land based works. His assemblages of objects cast ashore on eternal tides of human history feel strangely comforting; part of an archetypal inheritance of mythologies collectively shared. It’s this transcendental quality of the specifically local and deeply personal, expanded to the universal which distinguishes and elevates MacLean’s work. Having left a life at sea and “swallowed the anchor”, his practice is indigenous in the fullest sense of the word; bringing a deep, reverent understanding of the history, folklore and mythologies of the tribe, together with an intimate knowledge of the physical environment to all his visual and sculptural work. Maclean’s practice of assemblage and collage creates its own particular Surrealism; a heightened awareness in bringing objects together across time, melding two and three dimensional techniques in a fluid exploration of individual identity and our collective selves.

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Left to right: Memory Board (Mixed media and found materials) and Winter, North Atlantic (2014, Painted wood and resin, 124 x 105 x 5cm) by Will Maclean. Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

Winter, North Atlantic (2014, Painted wood and resin, 124 x 105 x 5cm) is an intensely powerful example, rendered with all the artist’s understanding and “due attention”. The surface itself is exquisite, a fine gradient horizon of steel hue and an inlaid, mouth like tomb, striated and metallic as the taste of blood. The core depth of this sculpted surface has an aerial, God-like perspective, like that of a receding cargo hold; part reliquary, part refuge for the unconscious self. The oxidization of natural processes and flow of crimson are framed and held within what feels like a monumental expanse of richly textured, dark ground. The bend of wood warped by ocean waves and floating text surface and subside in a fluid interplay between two and three dimensions. This is how mind and memory work and one of the joys of experiencing Maclean’s Art is identification with what it is to be human; the mystery of what is known and what can be sensed in the inky depths or brilliant white illumination of his carefully layered grounds.  Often drawn marks are part of this framed foundation into which Maclean places assembled and hallowed objects. Like an ancient explorer of unchartered waters, the artist casts his nets deep; divining, navigating, visualising pathways of meaning and narratives, drawing the viewer compellingly into the work.

One of Maclean’s mixed media box constructions Fladday Reliquary, part of the IMAG collection, is a particularly beautiful example. The bone white delicacy of a bird skull is framed and held by charcoal fired wood, rusted hooks and lineages disappearing into the base of the construction. The stark tonality of found materials and layered recesses lead the viewer further into the work with each successive viewing. It is a shame that this work and others in the IMAG collection are not on permanent display as part of the visual culture of the region. Like Maclean’s creative excavation of our collective archeology – if you want to come into contact with the visual traditions of the Scottish Gàidhealtachd then even in 2016 the viewer/ audience still needs to go digging. This work ought to be part of a permanent display, a publicly visible cultural statement which exists in other cities the world over. Go to Spain for example and you won’t find Picasso, Goya or Miro permanently hidden in storage, visible only when a touring exhibition illuminates their significance. In cities like Barcelona, Madrid or Amsterdam, Art as a reflection of Culture is resoundingly present, part of how the city, region and country sees itself, acknowledged internationally. The quality of this exhibition and the nature of its content present a compelling argument for celebration of the continuity of Scottish Visual Culture, confronting difficult but essential questions about historical precedents of cultural ownership in the process.

Maclean’s work has always engaged with this visual tradition directly through the Craft of making. Memory Board (Mixed media and found materials) is a poignant example, the fragment of a life boat both literally and metaphorically. In a progression of thought, materials and tonal submersion this piece feels like an anchor of the soul, with memories of men and fishing boats flanking either side of its triangulated apex. The movement from dark to light feels both grounded and aspirational, a monumental fragment, worn by time and the elements; weathered driftwood, riveted copper oxide metal and fragile human handwriting articulating the work. There is a sense of cultural artefacts of loss and resilience created from the combination of hand crafted and organic materials. MacLean’s handling of found materials, instinctive care and devotional reverence convey very powerfully emotional loss but also the strength of a timeless living tradition, reimagining the world. This is also invoked in Maclean’s Rudder Guardians (1999, Mixed Media), totemic figures in a progression of black, red, blue/green and white, guardians of the soul’s journey through and beyond this life, figures of protection aligned with the steerage of self-awareness and determination. These starkly linear, elongated sculptures and the shadows they cast on the gallery wall are Aboriginal and universal in their immediate, visceral presence. They are powerfully, symbolically present, spear-like in their inner trajectory and equally mysterious in the long shadows they cast, suggesting human drives of creative need, protection and social cohesion which universally define us as a species. At base we will always need Art and stories to make sense of ourselves; the skill of the artist is in initiating those connections so that we can remember. This shifting perception is part of the fabric of MacLean’s Art in terms of his creative process and in the act of seeing.

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Nomad Trace by Will Maclean (2011, mixed media construction, two panels, each 122 x 244 x 5cm.) Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

The artist’s imperative to explore this territory of mind can be seen and felt in Nomad Trace (2011, mixed media construction, two panels, each 122 x 244 x 5cm.) which creates a sense of an entire artic landscape in the shimmering Northern light of layered pigment and beeswax, icy blue emerging from the monumental white expanse of the diptych. The panels linked by a drawn circumference feel like interior maps. The tracery of form, drawn marks and inner framed recesses of the panels containing totemic vertebrae which emerge, dissolve and recede like melting ice into infinite white; a synthesis of Nature and a human eye and mind perceiving it. How you’re drawn into this work and the mythology of the Northern landscape creates a place of stillness within, an imaginative territory that the viewer is free to explore, led by ancient symbols of journeying between conscious and unconscious states of awareness.

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Atlantic Messengers-Hirta (1998, mixed media, 158 x 52 x 31cm) by Will Maclean. Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

One of my favourite works is the sculptural installation Atlantic Messengers- Sula Sgeir, Hirta and Fulmarus (1998, mixed media, each 158 x 52 x 31cm) which have a figurative human presence, like Classical Feminine Graces, the three Moirai  or a chorus bearing witness to the tragedy of evacuation. Containing enshrined objects of cultural acknowledgement and remembrance, cast and recast in resin, darkly framed and elevated on plinths, Maclean’s “St Kilda Ladies” contain personal memories and collective associations with life, death and renewal. The cast guillemot eggs and boat forms are historically laden with narratives, a penny for the mail boat and a coin for the boatman on the final journey. To me they have always felt like guardians of an underworld of burgeoning awareness, like Inuksuk; Inuit cairns in Northern Canada- human symbols reassuring the traveler through that vast, frozen  expanse that they are on the right path. The distinctly Feminine egg forms are both solid and fluid, like weighted tears, combined with geometry of form, like buoyant instruments of navigation, enduringly upright on ever changing seas. Although the white of the central plinth creates a Christian tryptic focus, the base construction of wooden pegs, like that of an ancient bardic instrument without its strings, suggests a much older connection to the mythology of the sea and our human origins.

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Towards the Voice of the Night – by Will Maclean, No4 of a series of 12 collages and poems;  A Catechism of the Laws of Storms, in collaboration with poet John Burnside. Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

Another highlight of the exhibition is MacLean’s collaboration with the poet John Burnside, A Catechism of the Laws of Storms, which has also been published by Art First, London, in book form.  Displayed here as a series of 12 screen prints in three colours accompanied by each poem, the union of images and poetry is completely symbiotic. The starting point was a found London Times of 1880, engravings which were the raw materials for MacLean’s beautifully Surreal collages. These images were then interpreted by the poet, inspiring and creating a series of works beyond text and illustration. Song of a Storm Wave, Storm-Bird Harbinger, Towards the Voice of Night and Apparition of the Re-drowned are especially fine examples of what feels like an intimately epic song cycle. At the heart of Song of a Storm Wave there is an illuminated human presence, a palette forms the body of an instrument within a ghostly moonlit silhouette; human form composed of found text and image, meaning as fluid as the collage process, the movement of a surfacing porpoise and the rhythm of waves. The flow of creative process from image to text feels absolutely right; it’s a sublime marriage of Art and Poetry.

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Song of a Storm Wave by Will Maclean, No1 of a series of 12 collages and poems;  A Catechism of the Laws of Storms, in collaboration with poet John Burnside. Image by kind permission of Art First, London.

www.artfirst.co.uk

https://www.highlifehighland.com/inverness-museum-and-art-gallery/