What are you made of?

'Flesh and Bone' Francis Bacon and Henry Moore at The Ashmolean, Oxford 

“There’s a layer of flesh around the muscle that shimmers with iridescence similar to that of mother of pearl. It’s surprisingly beautiful,” went  another normal conversation from two West Country dwellers on their way in the car to see an exhibition of Francis Bacon and Henry Moore’s work at The Ashmolean in Oxford. Ok, so I was listening to my friend’s account of having to once skin a deer (as you do) but unintentionally it couldn’t have actually been more appropriate way of setting the tone for what was going to be a very fleshy, meaty, bony, but also surprisingly beautiful sort of exhibition.  

Francis Bacon and Henry Moore at The Ashmolean, subtitled ‘Flesh and Bone’ features over sixty works from paintings, drawings and sculptures by the two artists (with the majority of work dating from the 1950’s and 60’s).

“Bacon concentrating on flesh, so mortal, so easily corrupted, and Moore on bone, the human remnant that survives for millennia.”

Until now the only known connection between the two artists was more to do with the fact that they worked during the same time, Bacon growing up within eleven years younger than Moore in the early 1900’s, surviving two world wars and both working simultaneously in London. However, the exhibition at The Ashmolean is the first exhibition to present selected Moore sculptures/drawings alongside Bacon’s paintings drawing attention to the parallels in themes, working practices and formal qualities the artists shared in their work. And let me tell you, the results are rather insightful!

This is a real curator’s type of exhibition, and by that I mean the real success and interest lies with how the show’s been put together in a way that two opposing artists have been reinterpreted as a result of being exhibited alongside each other; different, for example, from a retrospective or show whose aim is to represent a body or breadth of work. You can still expect to find several large scale Bacon paintings depicting distorted, painterly figures/bodies as well as the more solid, smooth, reclining figures of which Moore is renowned for. What is clever, is the curation of presenting the two together, it’s the kind of comparative analysis that art students are taught to put together in their visual culture essays, “what if you look at this artist, then another artist working with a different medium and then see what similarities/comparisons you can make between the two” Efforts often result in a thoughtful new insight into what otherwise has become familiar work. It opens new interpretation and thinking that can make us look at the work differently.

Moore’s Animal Head; and a detail from Bacon’s Portrait of Man with Glasses. Photographs: The Henry Moore Foundation; The Estate of Francis Bacon *

That’s what the curation of Bacon Moore does for the artists’ work at the Ashmolean. I looked for sculptural qualities in Bacon’s figures and admired the painterly quality and gesture in Moore’s drawings.  Perhaps what doesn’t translate as well or so easily for me is Moore’s actual sculptures which appear to be more dated and familiar over the years than Bacon’s paintings which still feel contemporary and stir what I can probably only describe as a more prompt, gut reaction than Moore’s sculptures which still leave me feeling a bit cold. However, Moore’s sculptures have all the more to gain from this exhibition as it’s the way I viewed his work that changed the most. I had always thought Moore’s figures as being in a state of calm, laid back (literally reclining in some cases), soft curving and undulated like the Yorkshire hills that helped inspire their form. But seeing them alongside Bacon has made them all the more sinister. What was once reclining now looks awkward, uncomfortable and even vulnerable. This reading is further developed with the addition of Moore’s shelter drawings; dark, intense images that Moore captured of people huddled, stooped and lying in shelters during World War Two. The figures in these drawings are more distorted, ghostly and malformed like that of Bacon’s figures. Making links between the formal qualities their works is now easier to see. Equally, I was surprised to see sculptural qualities in Bacon’s paintings (aside from the surfaces of his paintings which are in themselves quite sculptural) noticing how he placed his figures on ledges, edges, chairs or pedestals. Like a carcass of meat in a butcher’s window there is something chillingly voyeuristic and something of an awareness of presentation in how Bacon’s figures sit or lie within their constructed window-like frames.  Bodies in Bacon’s paintings appear moulded and shaped as though they were made of unset clay. Moore’s sculptures on the other hand become the solidified version of a Bacon painted from.

However for this joint exhibition of artists to work well, does the connection/the links that the curator is making between the work need to be believable? Or is it important for us, we the audience, to keep in mind that this is a proposed interpretation of the artists’ works and is not necessarily factual proof that the two artists influenced each other. Like the big exhibition, ‘Matisse Picasso’ at the Tate Modern from 2002, the connection is more speculative (however likely) rather than definitive. Not that any of that gets in the way of how one views the work, I don’t think, the distinctions between their work could be purely coincidental. What is clear, is that this is a rewarding exhibition to view, certainly challenging some of my preconceived thoughts of Bacon and Moore. If Picasso’s dictum, ‘Good artists copy, great artists steal.’ is to be believed then whether Bacon and Moore took inspiration or stole ideas from each other or not the fact that that it has taken us this long to notice can only be proof that as artists in their own ways they are both great.

Flesh and Bone is on at The Ashmolean, Oxford until January 19^th, for more details visit:

http://www.ashmolean.org/exhibitions/baconmoore/

 *Images from:

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2013/aug/30/francis-bacon-henry-moore-opposites-attract

The answer is blowin' in the wind

I can still remember the day when I learnt what 0 was. I was probably 5 years old in a maths lesson and greatly distressed at seeing this 0 symbol and not knowing what it was or what it stood for. A teacher explained that 0 was nothing. Zero. This was almost too philosophical a mind-bending statement to get my 5 year old head around, 'How can 0 be nothing, when it's a something? If it is nothing then why not put nothing?' I accepted the concept none-the-less but it has stayed with me as one of those profound moments of learning without really knowing the impact and importance of what it is you've just learnt and one that stays with you throughout your life. What, exactly has this all got to do with a post about Seamus Heaney is not all too obvious at first but there's something anecdotal and vaguely profound that unities the two together.

In light of the sad passing away of the Irish poet, (like many people) I thought I'd dig up some of his poetry and have a read. I've been known to write the odd bit of poetry (usually very odd) from time to time yet despite this I wouldn't say I am a vast reader or even have a vast knowledge of poetry. In fact I had never heard of Seamus Heaney until about five years ago when his poems seemed to find me, blowing across a Tesco car park which I happened to be walking across on my way into town. I don't make a habit of picking up all the stuff I see blowing around car parks but don't like to see books getting abused and upon realising this green thing flapping about was a book I picked it up to rescue it. 'Who is this Sea-mus Heaney?' I thought, reading the cover. Pronouncing Seamus as 'Sea' (as in the ocean) and 'mus' in my head. On further inspection, he's Irish (and then proper realisation of how his name is actually pronounced) and then 'Oh, there's a poem about digging and a pitchfork!'

Great! What a wonderful discovery. Two fantastic poems that had a resonance with me and my work, plus the other poems were of interest too and all of this found, completely at random in a windy car park in Taunton.

"This is how I should discover all my poets." I thought. "There's a Ted Hughes stuck in a tree, a Yeats caught in the brambles alongside the river." The book itself  is one of those free supplements occasionally inserted in newspapers and for whatever reason someone had either a) lost it on the way to the car or b) chosen, in an act of disgust, to discard their copy of Seamus Heaney's poems. Most likely not the latter. Perhaps there were dozens of other discarded poets wafting around the car park, liberated from their newspapers and free to do what all good poetry in metaphor should do, glide seamlessly and effortlessly on the wind.

So there you have it. Like learning the value of nought, I didn't really notice the significance of how I discovered Seamus Heaney at the time but in retrospect it's one of those relatively uneventful but meaningful stories that sticks in memory and are in a very small way probably the sorts of memories that help define who you are, what you value as important and mean a great deal more than nought.

My copy of Seamus Heaney's poetry

THE PITCHFORK -Seamus Heaney

Of all implements, the pitchfork was the one
That came near to an imagined perfection:
When he tightened his raised hand and aimed with it,
It felt like a javelin, accurate and light.

So whether he played the warrior or the athlete
Or worked in earnest in the chaff and sweat,
He loved its grain of tapering, dark-flecked ash
Grown satiny from its own natural polish.

Riveted steel, turned timber, burnish, grain,
Smoothness, straightness, roundness, length and sheen.
Sweat-cured, sharpened, balanced, tested, fitted.
The springiness, the clip and dart of it.

And then when he thought of probes that reached the
farthest,
He would see the shaft of a pitchfork sailing past
Evenly, imperturbably through space,
Its prongs starlit and absolutely soundless --

But has learned at last to follow that simple lead
Past its own aim, out to an other side
Where perfection - or nearness to it - is imagined
Not in the aiming but the opening hand.

My grandparents' shovel on the farm down the lane from where I grew up.

DIGGING -Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests

I'll dig with it

Tool Talk

"With perspectives from archaeology, performance and movement-based research, Labour Movements hosts a conversation on how we decipher, read and interpret tools and their relationship to our bodies."

Should I be surprised that there are other people who are interested and have researched into the symbolism, interpretation and significance of tools?  I'm delighted to discover that there are. Not only does that reaffirm some things I had often thought but it also invites an opportunity to learn some new things too.

On Sunday 1st September I went to The Parlour Showrooms in Bristol to attend a tea break talk discussing, "Tools of the City and Movements of Work"

 

 A brief bit of context: this talk was part of the 'In the City Series', a six week long programme of performance and events running from July to December exploring the themes of making, working and walking (to name a few) within the context of re-imagining ‘The City'. The talk I attended was part of 'Working in the City' and co-produced by KWMC and The Showroom Projects with the talk co-curated by Cara Davies and Labour Movements.

The Venue -Parlour Showrooms, Bristol



I heard of this event through, Paul Hurley, a performance artist working with the theme along with fellow performance artist, Clare Thornton working collaboratively to create a series of performances based on movements/actions associated with tool use/misuse. I had worked alongside Paul on the Context residency at Somerset College around three years ago. Back then I can remember the shamanistic-like use and importance that Paul placed upon what were fairly mundane artefacts; a broken umbrella, a foil space blanket, a cycling helmet, cricket pads and in my own way (through drawing) sharing a common interest or perhaps belief (if you want to call it that) that everyday things had an importance, mysticism or resonance that somehow elevated them just beyond mere things of use.

 

Being still fascinated, if somewhat haunted by tools as subject matter in my own art work (you are reading 'A Spanner in the Workz) I did what any good tool obsessed, blog wielding, bookseller would do and went to investigate...

The following is admittedly a fragmented report that is my attempt to recall what was discussed along with some thoughts of where it sits within my own practice. 

 

Fuelled by copious amounts of tea and biscuits a small collective of 18 people attended the event inside the Parlour Showrooms (which is basically an empty shop space that is used for temporary exhibitions situated on College Green in Bristol). I liked the informal atmosphere of being surrounded by other people's tools (see photos) on the walls and sitting on wooden benches and having mugs of tea. It all seemed more relaxed and fitting (in a DIY sense) to the nature of the conversation.   Hosted by Cara Davies, PHD student and featuring two speakers the conversation began in laying some foundations:

 What is labour? What are tools and how do we interpret them? To be discussed from archaeological and bodily perspectives.

 Speaker number one was going to discuss tools from an archaeological perspective, discussing the interpretation and typology of tools (how things turn into other things over time i.e. Can be seen in the evolution of bowls or spoons in Pitt Rivers). How do we identify, describe and use tools? In turn who decides the correct/incorrect use of tools, is there a hierarchy of tool use and a more political look at how tools control and need to be controlled. All pretty ambitious to cover in a forty-ish minute conversation methinks and that is probably my only criticism of the event, that it promised more than it actually delivered (breadth rather than depth). However, maybe that’s not entirely fair as it was only supposed to be a conversation and in many ways opened up some interesting discussion and points I had not previously considered.

 Anyway, the group were given four scenarios which presented different ways in which ‘tools’ are used, for example, a macaque washing a potato in a stream is an example of using nature (in this case the stream) like a tool. The other examples included tools that have to be learnt or that knowledge is required to use them, tools which are intentionally broken as a symbol for the misuse of tools and lastly people referring to themselves (the body as well as politically*) as tool. Those examples were given as a way of opening up our interpretation of what a tool ‘can be’ when we think about the tools used to create the city, populate it and influence its structures of control, navigation, identity and so forth.

 

The concept of mega tools and micro tools was presented with mega tools being tools which control such as roads, traffic lights, keep out signs and anti-climb paint. Whereas micro tools act against mega tools and are more about how we use our bodies in ‘tool-like’ ways such as creating desire lines, open footpaths, guerrilla gardening, using muscle memory. This doesn’t mean they are always necessarily always in opposition to mega tools but are a kind of cause and effect of the controls that mega tools induce. I wonder how these see-saws of conflict are balanced or attempted to be controlled by those in power. Graffiti is another example of breaking tools, in the sense that a spray paint can wasn’t originally intended to paint walls but was used that way as a form of taking ownership, creating individuality in a public space. In that way tools also become a form of creating ‘self’ as we identify in different ways with different objects.

It wasn't all serious, we also had time to play 'Guess What It Does', with this selection of odd tools.  No prizes however for guessing that the best answers were actually the ones that turned out to be wrong.

The conversation flowed into more of a discussion into using tools and the misuse of them. And it is this thread of conversation that brings us on to speaker two, Sang-Gye, a Tactile Responsiveness Therapist who presents a more bodily awareness of the actions associated with tool use. As a practicing Buddhist and as part of her therapy she treats people holistically, mind and body are linked as one and explains that when we are born we have no physical habits and that actions and how to hold things/use them are learned and in turn can be mis-learned (if there is such a thing as mis-learning a tool? As it is surely only through mis-use that new things are created?). This is similar to how an apprentice has to learn, experience and experiment to become skillful at using a tool previously unlearned. She explains gesture is learned and in turn gesture turns into a habit of movement and movement becomes posture and posture changes your body (we shape our tools and therefore our tools shape us –in this case physically, but also in terms of identity).

 It was interesting to hear what people had to say about their own relationships/experiences with tools of their trade and how the physicality often associated with those actions is now being replaced with new technology, screens and touch-based operation systems. This led to discussing how people learn to use tools correctly, to let it do the work, so-much-so that if done properly you actually forget the tool altogether. Queue Natalie stage right.  "In my own practice using a tool (ie a hammer) to create a drawing, the repetitive action of using the hammer made me increasingly less aware of the hammer itself and more aware of the materiality of the carbon I was hitting to create the drawing." Although all this talk of the action and gesture involved in using tools did make me wonder again whether performance is a more effective medium to convey both the physicality of tool use in a way that draws attention to both the tool and its function in unison? I was also surprised at how elegantly simple ways of presenting tools hung up in a white space also works really well at drawing attention to the objects.

The conversation ended how it began except with fewer biscuits and the addition of even more questions, but we had been on an interesting journey that had raised some new ideas and ways of thinking which would have never been generated if not for the curation of the conversation and prompting of discussion which all in all was good. Maybe we would all think differently about how we moved through the city on our way home, how we were going to use that shovel properly next time we were gardening or spend less time using digital tools and start using real ones more often? And at the very least had all come to the profound realisation that, 'hey there are other people that like tools as much as me'. Weird!

Retrospectively my thoughts are that the simplicity of how the tools were presented on the walls within the space somehow helped prompt such thought provoking and interesting discussions. It made me wonder if maybe in my own practice should I have written or talked about tools, made sound recordings of tools instead of forcing to convey it through drawing or representation? Generally speaking, is the simplest idea always the most effective one? But then I don't think I was ever dedicated enough to the idea of tools as I was to drawing, painting, mark-making, printing and the substance of all that archetypal art stuff which provided  a limitless source of joy and self-expression. There has always been an on-going conflict between the two and whilst my hands and things I drew with were in ways tools it still never seemed enough to justify the reasoning to draw tools. On the other hand, my work has always had the look of being laboured (lots of mark-making, gesture, large scale) and maybe that in itself is somehow synonymous of the work associated with tools as objects of use? It’s clear that this subject isn’t going to go away any time soon and remains something of a personal mission that instead of reaching any conclusion continues to be picked-up and battled with. Only the medium has changed to words rather than paint these days. Things could get messy!

Find out more about The Parlour Showrooms and future 'In the City Series' events via the links below:

http://www.parlourshowrooms.co.uk  

http://www.inthecityseries.co.uk/

Not forgetting websites of the participating artists themselves:

http://paulhurley.org/

http://clarethornton.com/

*NOTE TO SELF an example of this being: “The Master’s tools will never dismantle the Master’s house” –quote from Civil Rights Activist, Audre Lorde