Saturday, August 26, 2006
That's Nott Art!
Art isn't everyone's bag. One of the unique aspects of a visual art exhibit, is that it may be one of the only times when the audience is required to think. Whereas the general public seem content to veg in front of the tube or the silver screen, art shows draw a more select following. Opening night at the Bonington Gallery illustrated this fact. Their last exhibit, intersection Nottingham, was intended in the words of curator/organiser Sorrel Muggridge, "...to initiate a dialogue between artists". What she hadn't counted on was input from a disgruntled visitor.
After the opening, artists and common folk alike were invited back to attend three workshops run by artists from the show. Michael Bowdidge headed a lecture of sorts on deconstruction theory which gradually digressed into an open discussion about responses to the show from opening night. While the comment book had been generally overlooked, remarks heard in passing had implied it was the best thing many of the guests had seen at Bonington in a while. Jeannie Clark, another featured artist, offered a different perspective. She'd invited several of her friends who were not art enthusiasts so much as they were there to show a friend support. One of these women had expressed her frustration over not understanding what the artists were trying to say. When Jeannie would explain something her friend became even more irritated and said, "Well why couldn't they just say that?"
Upon hearing this Michael asserted that all the audience needed to know was in the statements each artist submitted for the program. Michael's submission reads: "I am interested in breaking down identity and reclaiming and transforming the overlooked...Something always happens, usually the unexpected." His piece included a wooden construction mounted on the wall with a passage printed on the floor below. The passage described plaques found on Maid Marian Way and St. James Street commemorating stays there by the Duc de Tallard and Lord Byron, respectively. The string of facts tied neatly together as the Duc was a POW from the battle of Blenheim and Byron's longstanding rival Southey penned a poem called 'The Battle of Blenheim'. A nice 'unexpected' link between two residences in Nottingham. The key here, however, was the viewer picking up on the link and the suggestion of the unexpected in the statement.
Other voices from around the table insisted individual interpretation was surely meant to play a part. Didn't the artist communicate everything the viewer needed to know in the information provided? What was the artist's responsibility to the viewer? Complaints like this obviously frustrated the artist who felt the job was done. Yet consider the position the complaint came from. For someone unfamiliar with openings and indeed contemporary art in general, how easy would it be to feel ignorant or unsure in a room full of people who seem to get it all? By saying the show was the best thing they'd seen at Bonington in a while, the satisfied guests revealed the fact that they frequented the gallery. They had a relationship with the space. Additionally many were connected to Trent* and had experience working in the art department or even with artists in intersection. Bad enough having to read something, never mind doing so in a gathering of the initiated.
The pieces in Bonington were created by the artists to illustrate their personal takes on areas of Nottingham. They were not geared specifically to satisfy the audience, a fact that places a sharp divide between them and what was on television or at the cinema that night. Questions like that of Jeannie's friend are essential to a visual artist, giving much needed feedback on the work. The fear of 'getting it wrong' should not be a deter people from galleries. Nor should viewers' confusion irritate artists. intersection succeeded as Sorrel had hoped in initiating dialogue between artists, but went beyond to address a more important discussion- the ever present exchange between artist and audience.
*The Bonington Gallery is part of Nottingham Trent University's School of Art and Design
After the opening, artists and common folk alike were invited back to attend three workshops run by artists from the show. Michael Bowdidge headed a lecture of sorts on deconstruction theory which gradually digressed into an open discussion about responses to the show from opening night. While the comment book had been generally overlooked, remarks heard in passing had implied it was the best thing many of the guests had seen at Bonington in a while. Jeannie Clark, another featured artist, offered a different perspective. She'd invited several of her friends who were not art enthusiasts so much as they were there to show a friend support. One of these women had expressed her frustration over not understanding what the artists were trying to say. When Jeannie would explain something her friend became even more irritated and said, "Well why couldn't they just say that?"
Upon hearing this Michael asserted that all the audience needed to know was in the statements each artist submitted for the program. Michael's submission reads: "I am interested in breaking down identity and reclaiming and transforming the overlooked...Something always happens, usually the unexpected." His piece included a wooden construction mounted on the wall with a passage printed on the floor below. The passage described plaques found on Maid Marian Way and St. James Street commemorating stays there by the Duc de Tallard and Lord Byron, respectively. The string of facts tied neatly together as the Duc was a POW from the battle of Blenheim and Byron's longstanding rival Southey penned a poem called 'The Battle of Blenheim'. A nice 'unexpected' link between two residences in Nottingham. The key here, however, was the viewer picking up on the link and the suggestion of the unexpected in the statement.
Other voices from around the table insisted individual interpretation was surely meant to play a part. Didn't the artist communicate everything the viewer needed to know in the information provided? What was the artist's responsibility to the viewer? Complaints like this obviously frustrated the artist who felt the job was done. Yet consider the position the complaint came from. For someone unfamiliar with openings and indeed contemporary art in general, how easy would it be to feel ignorant or unsure in a room full of people who seem to get it all? By saying the show was the best thing they'd seen at Bonington in a while, the satisfied guests revealed the fact that they frequented the gallery. They had a relationship with the space. Additionally many were connected to Trent* and had experience working in the art department or even with artists in intersection. Bad enough having to read something, never mind doing so in a gathering of the initiated.
The pieces in Bonington were created by the artists to illustrate their personal takes on areas of Nottingham. They were not geared specifically to satisfy the audience, a fact that places a sharp divide between them and what was on television or at the cinema that night. Questions like that of Jeannie's friend are essential to a visual artist, giving much needed feedback on the work. The fear of 'getting it wrong' should not be a deter people from galleries. Nor should viewers' confusion irritate artists. intersection succeeded as Sorrel had hoped in initiating dialogue between artists, but went beyond to address a more important discussion- the ever present exchange between artist and audience.
*The Bonington Gallery is part of Nottingham Trent University's School of Art and Design
Misterlee
A select crowd at this year’s Summer Sundae was treated to an intimate performance by zany ensemble Misterlee. Working assorted bits of percussion Lee himself barely stirred from his case, sat in the centre of the stage. Bandmates J P Smith (guitar) and Michael Curtis Oxtoby (violin and bass guitar) remained close by while making their contributions. The whole thing had a very cosy feel enhanced by a small centre stage lamp. Atop an amp. So the darkness would not hamp-er Lee’s playing.
Maybe seeing three men gathered round an antique lamp reminded audience members of some elderly relative’s living room. They certainly acted accordingly, standing up straight on the floor while others sat quietly in the upper balcony. Or perhaps they were just hung over from the night before. But more likely than not, everyone watching was frozen in awe in front of this display of bluesy strings, creeping into frantic electrical violin, which escalated to meet a fracas between drum machine drum and effects box! Vocals ranging between guttural murmers and SCREAMS! WHICH ONLY seconds later, would bring them back down… safe. A melodic melee.
http://www.misterlee.co.uk
http://www.myspace.com/leeallatson
Maybe seeing three men gathered round an antique lamp reminded audience members of some elderly relative’s living room. They certainly acted accordingly, standing up straight on the floor while others sat quietly in the upper balcony. Or perhaps they were just hung over from the night before. But more likely than not, everyone watching was frozen in awe in front of this display of bluesy strings, creeping into frantic electrical violin, which escalated to meet a fracas between drum machine drum and effects box! Vocals ranging between guttural murmers and SCREAMS! WHICH ONLY seconds later, would bring them back down… safe. A melodic melee.
http://www.misterlee.co.uk
http://www.myspace.com/leeallatson
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Terrible Two?
Children are not meant for public places. Today the amount of irritation caused by one child was enough to have it and its mother, both of whom shall remain nameless, barred from service in a reputable establishment which shall likewise remain nameless. The child in question was a toddler; male, energetic, and easily bored. The mother was meeting with a friend. The establishment was putting on a popular curry night and not quite busy yet. Service was slow enough that there were a number of empty chairs that soon became employed as general run around area for the toddler.
Picture the scene: sectioned-off carpeted wing of the establishment designated as a 'family area'. A smattering of families, five at the most. There are no toys on the tables or goggle-eyed animals on the wallpaper. The only thing that would give the space away as a family area is the fact that there are tables to seat more than two. 'Buddy', our toddler, was finding it hard to stay put; his mother was talking to her companion and saw no harm in letting Buddy burn off energy within her sights.
Until that waitress. Fair play, it's hard to navigate trays of steaming hot curry around an ankle-high streak of lightning. Buddy had situated himself before the doors to the kitchen, collapsed on his back after his run around. The waitress took the time to explain that he must remain seated with his family for his own safety as well as the staff's. A reasonable request. Buddy was scooped up and carried over to the table, which he was not happy about. That much he communicated eloquently.
Anyone who has wrestled a two year old that's been told they can't get their own way will know what followed. In the time it took for the legs to be secured the arms had been loosed and were flailing. Even when all limbs were confined nothing could stop the horrific wail coming from the black hole were once a sticky smile had been. Can no one help here??? The same people who would glare dissapprovingly (and there were many of them,) at the child's antics look on in horror should a harsh word be uttered against it. Were any of these moral highbrows prepared to assist in the capture? No! Their curries take priority over their aural comfort, better to stay seated and stuff their faces while it's hot and stuff their ears against the din around them.
Child secured and deposited, the mother's companion went to the bar. He returned with one drink in hand, saying because of a complaint about the child the staff had been instructed to stop serving the mother's table. So while no one was able to lend a helping hand, someone had managed to get to the bar to lodge a complaint. Some time-miser had judged then that in the time it would take to help with the silencing of the child a curry could go cold, whereas a complaint could be made in 10 seconds flat. The logic is apparent, but it is a short term solution to a problem.
If a restaurant is advertising themselves as open to families with an area set aside for that purpose, let them be prepared. Something as simple as the old colouring sheet and a crayon could hardly put a dint in profits. Are there no pound shops? The burgerbar plastic toy tradition, some inexpensive doo-dad where beads can be pushed along wires and buttons pressed and rollers spun in a corner. Two birds could be killed with one stone, have disused mobile phones donated so that environmentalists will be appeased and children with an ever increasing demand for technology* (*Nottingham Evening Post 26/8/06) can be occupied.
Unfortunately studies are showing that the British are one of the most depressed and dissatisfied populations today, both children
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=399353&in_page_id=1770
and adults http://www.hani.co.kr/arti/english_edition/e_editorial/148717.html
While this is true, perhaps the most helpful thing a restaurant can do is to provide some sort of harness and gag combination. Simple steps, for the benefit of all.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Conceptual Art
Today was grey from the beginning with little promise of anything but rain. My companion and I met the downpour in the middle of the Cotswalds, having decided to get a walk in before I moved on. We were soaked within minutes.
"I stayed up to watch the end of that program about Denmark," I said as we squelched along, "there was an artist who made meatballs out of ground meat, his own blood, and then cooked it in fat sucked out of his own body."
"See, to me that's just bollocks."
"The guy presenting it said that too, he got really shirty saying 'If I took this glass and smashed it across your face in front of all these people I could say that was art!'"
"Yeah, I agree with that," replied the soggy mass to my right. The direction of the conversation could have been predicted a mile off, and no one's open for conversion when they're getting drenched. But I was in a fighting mood.
"Well, why was it bollocks?"
"Because it didn't do anything, it was of no use to anyone and it probably cost somebody a huge amount of money, possibly tax payers who had no interest in it!"
"It made you think, though, didn't it? The whole idea was to get people to think about how we consume. The artist was a vegetarian and so would he be a vegetarian still if he ate... himself? It got you thinking, whatever your opinion was, so it worked."
This got brushed aside and the walk continued in silence for about five minutes. Conversation resumed but the subject was avoided. The rain waned, not that we could have gotten any wetter by the time it did. Sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. Looking ahead I could see that the path we were following had obviously been maintained by human hands, mowed down slightly lower than the grass either side of it. I asked who took care of these national walk areas.
"Dunno," he said with a shrug, "I imagine some official, hired, maintainence, government, professional, person, thing..."
"Paid by the government?"
"More'n likely."
"Taxes, then?"
"Mmmm."
"There's probably only a few people who enjoy this sort of thing, walking and that, on a regular basis. Good that it's there though, for them that wants it."
My companion agreed, not seeing where I was taking this. Sensing his guard was down, I moved in for the kill...
"Sounds like conceptual art, to me."
"I stayed up to watch the end of that program about Denmark," I said as we squelched along, "there was an artist who made meatballs out of ground meat, his own blood, and then cooked it in fat sucked out of his own body."
"See, to me that's just bollocks."
"The guy presenting it said that too, he got really shirty saying 'If I took this glass and smashed it across your face in front of all these people I could say that was art!'"
"Yeah, I agree with that," replied the soggy mass to my right. The direction of the conversation could have been predicted a mile off, and no one's open for conversion when they're getting drenched. But I was in a fighting mood.
"Well, why was it bollocks?"
"Because it didn't do anything, it was of no use to anyone and it probably cost somebody a huge amount of money, possibly tax payers who had no interest in it!"
"It made you think, though, didn't it? The whole idea was to get people to think about how we consume. The artist was a vegetarian and so would he be a vegetarian still if he ate... himself? It got you thinking, whatever your opinion was, so it worked."
This got brushed aside and the walk continued in silence for about five minutes. Conversation resumed but the subject was avoided. The rain waned, not that we could have gotten any wetter by the time it did. Sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. Looking ahead I could see that the path we were following had obviously been maintained by human hands, mowed down slightly lower than the grass either side of it. I asked who took care of these national walk areas.
"Dunno," he said with a shrug, "I imagine some official, hired, maintainence, government, professional, person, thing..."
"Paid by the government?"
"More'n likely."
"Taxes, then?"
"Mmmm."
"There's probably only a few people who enjoy this sort of thing, walking and that, on a regular basis. Good that it's there though, for them that wants it."
My companion agreed, not seeing where I was taking this. Sensing his guard was down, I moved in for the kill...
"Sounds like conceptual art, to me."
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Today's findings:
www.domenici.co.uk
> Richard Domenici, successful art graduate?
www.youthmusic.co.uk
> booked today for workshop on DJing in lobby of Bristol City Museum
www.dontpanicmedia.com
> brown paper bag of flyers, Bristol
www.domenici.co.uk
> Richard Domenici, successful art graduate?
www.youthmusic.co.uk
> booked today for workshop on DJing in lobby of Bristol City Museum
www.dontpanicmedia.com
> brown paper bag of flyers, Bristol
