Migration, Memory, Mimesis, at Linen Hall Library, Belfast, September 5-28, 2018

Displayed on the walls of the stairwell and in cabinets on landings are photographs by Lynne Connolly, Moira McIver, and Mo White.

Lynne Connolly manipulates her lens-based or digital images by stitching and texts, some end up like small books or paper houses. Her work focuses my eye on the charming and sensually rich crafts,  even when dealing with a hostility experienced by her central subjects, citizens of Northern Ireland’s “absence of representation of identity”. (see https://lynneconnollyphotography.wordpress.com).

Significantly, in one of her reviews, she proposed that the visual is better than words in slipping into viewers’ consciousness and staying in their memory,  in the sense that and how it rejects questioning of the image’s truthfulness.  I cherished her addition: “… only if we really see, what we are looking at”.

“Everything can be taken from a man,” Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl wrote in his  treatise on the search for meaning“but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”  Even the political simplifications of reporting do have their visual equivalent. So the choice of one’s attitude is open-ended.

This is my first contact with Connolly’s visual art. An overwhelming saturation of memory with familiar modes like boxes made by stitching together old photographs and leporellos and other kinds of folded pages came swiftly to my aid.

Her folding books (looking like my childhood leporellos)  are also toy houses, one exhibits an image from her other work

 

Printed on the pages are both words an images, aiming to exhume hope from under despair. She says she likes a “happy ending”. Connolly is a writer of stories, some of which she then “translates” into images, that are aimed to be not just “added”  illustrations.

On her university page she states inter alia: I am interested in the use of constructed imagery to explore meaning….  

While her objects and images slip into a world of playful sweetness through an assembly of not-quite-from this-world-high-keys they are rooted in fragments of that intention.

For me, she visualises kindness in its many appearances and stages.  Perhaps because she indeed aims at “happy endings”.

MO WHITE: KITCHEN ACCOUNTS (2012)

are records of a performance to a camera held by Lynne Connolly (see the artist’s handout).

The series entertains a visualization of similarity and difference as if reading Plato on Demiurge in Timaeus.  The sameness of the set-up introduces a rigorous, cold examination room only formula. It does not explore all the methods of creation Plato mentions.

The words printed under the serene visual composition appear to be superfluous, a sign of unnecessary dependency on the verbal.  On the other hand, they are meant to protect the integrity of the artist’s intention, thus ensuring competition with the dignity of viewing.

White writes that the series has roots in the Irish diaspora to England, specifically the 1950s generation “who were unable to assimilate”.   This claim is not otherwise supported by the images.

(It is also not supported by my experience of teaching in the Middle school where the majority of staff and pupils were recent additions from Northern Ireland, escaping from the Troubles.  They assimilated easily, whereas the treatment of  children from Jamaica drove their fathers to leave the UK.  The Irish boys ruled.)

There is a fundamental dignity in the openness of visual art (not necessarily the artist) to various interpretations and not every intention succeeds without being challenged by real life.

Remy Debes offers elucidation of our problem with dignity:

 And yet, the idea of human dignity is beset by hypocrisy. After all, our Western ethos evolved from, and with, the most violent oppression. For 200 years, we’ve breathed in the heady aspirations of liberty and justice for all, but somehow breathed out genocide, slavery, eugenics, colonisation, segregation, mass incarceration, racism, sexism, classism and, in short, blood, rape, misery and murder. It shocks the imagination.  (https://aeon.co/essays/human-dignity-is-an-ideal-with-remarkably-shallow-roots)

White chose the severe classicist discipline of clarity and order.  In a row on the wall she mimes small acts while sitting behind the table.

I value the intensity and power of visual thought, of what is made visible while preferring to ignore the verbal directive.  The text dilutes the meaning of the visual thought, it directs my response.  It curtails my freedom to relate to the visual directly.  There is a strong symbolic meaning issued through the choice of colours: green background, pristine white empty page,  and the gray subdued I of the sitter.

White’s severe discipline of planning, of order, and the clinical cleanliness evoke clear, incisive images –  the exactitude  compared by ancient Egyptians to  the “fundamental note of the flute” ( as in Italo Calvino, Six memos , p.55)

In practical life it feels like a call to start again from the blank page.

MOIRA McIVER

The two of her photographs have words in Irish attached.  That means that I do not know what they mean. An experience  similar to my looking at Chinese ink paintings, Japanese woodcuts, Arabic illustrated manuscripts etc.

However, for Irish speakers those words have strong emotional associations, I observed.

Making a particular language a condition for “getting” the tenor of a visual / aesthetic trope is a dubious advantage, connected to an inherited divide. McIver tailors words to memory, moreover, uses them sparingly. She kindly translated some for me – they had an easy power to subvert expectation signalled by the image of the child, or of the celebrating a religious rite. Issued a light touch.

In the vitrine, she arranged images from different periods of her practice.  All are visual equivalents of known and anonymous, two of her preferred dualities.

In her thesis submitted for the Higher Research Degree  she writes:

…present and absent elements are equally valid, moreover, they are necessary for diminishing integration and emphasising oscillation and cross-over.  (see Moira McIver, Traces of Self, Between Practice and Theory, May 1996: 180) It is the same open-ended character familiar from poetry.

Her art does live within the riches and confines of visual thoughts, which overcome at least some of the boundaries that divide people and lifetimes.

In a vitrine (above)  she installed some older work for surprisingly up-to-date- realism infected by whimsical framing, e.g. the cowhide morphs into a  view down through the gaps in clouds when the flying or viewing snow on rocky mountains from above…

The animation is as spontaneous as seeing may be, and perception, at times, is.  The gently enjoyable reminder of the richness of play.

McIver demobilizes habit by juxtaposing different found images, or, in the image below, by adding a restricted comment.  A few painterly touches on the girl in white look like being made by time collaborating by chance with the atmosphere.

Her focus on memories started in her undergraduate work. It was her fascination with and respect for her family roots in Donegal that nourished her lifelong devotion to memory and history as a subject for her art practice.  Early on she selected four strategies for visibility:  overlap, oscillation, merging and obliteration.  Not to get drowned in Self she fondly cherished dualities, eg unique versus similar, and singular versus multiple, and further eight pairs of expressive dualities to match the visual code to the source.

The photographs in the vitrine illustrate flattening of the depth of space – the cowhide is almost flat, so is the “necklace” of fish.  They also revive the older strategy of the juxtaposition of the fragment as a whole (hands),  favoured by McIver both in her videos and photography.

Her work refuses to fit its own date, in a sense that the decades between the take and the current print do not influence the meaning.  Such a light touch of time, this frivolous play with uncertainty, is never allowed to dissipate the whole.  Her mastery of these complex phenomena is visible both in her close-ups and video loops.  It seems appropriate to summarise her art practice only with the complex concept entertained by Leonardo: mute poetry.   McIver never betrays that.

 

Images courtesy the artists. Installation shots by Moira McIver.

 

 

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Travis Somerville and Ian Cumberland at Golden Thread Gallery, Belfast, 04.08 – 22.09 2018

The gallery calls it a “simultaneous solo exhibitions” connected to “the current themes (….) explored by the GTG  2018 – 2019 programme of approaching ways of looking” (Gallery handout). Like Humpty Dumpty I – you- GTG may  give those words different meaning. One is that the gallery programme aims to present some distinct ways of looking. But – by who? The curator? The artist? The viewer? Is it not always the case?  Seduced by the 20th C obsession with “la différence”, often that becomes the main value.  However, these exhibits allow for sameness to enter.

Travis Somerville, Invasion, 2017, graphite and charcoal on feed sack, Soviet issues gas mask and bag, 118x96cm
Travis Somerville, Invasion, 2017, graphite and charcoal on feed sack, Soviet issues gas mask and bag, 118x96cm

Painting or drawing a person transmutes a sentient person into an inanimate object. Nevertheless, verism holds on to more of the “soul”.  Nothing new about that. Look at Gentile Bellini’s self- portrait, how similar his way of looking at the live body is to that of Somerville above. I am not suggesting the debt of the younger to the older artist. Rather, a comparison of pose and modelling illustrates that the ways of looking do not depend on temporal context. Whereas, using vintage cotton pick sack as a ground, does, as do references to a Soviet gas mask and bag.

Gentile Bellini, Self-portrait, 1496 -97
Gentile Bellini, Self-portrait, 1496 -97

Bellini also added accessories in a portrait of another:  In line with the trends in European portraiture of the time, Bellini depicted the sultan in resplendent detail, his three-quarter profile framed by an illusionistic archway.

Gentile Bellini, Portrait of Sultan Mehmet, 1480
Gentile Bellini, Portrait of Sultan Mehmet, 1480

Mehmet is also represented by the trappings of Islamic authority: His red caftan and luxurious fur mantle are accompanied by a headdress (a wrapped turban over a red taj) that indicates his rank and religious identity; a piece of jewel-encrusted Ottoman embroidery hangs down the front of the frame; and the three crowns of Constantinople, Iconium, and Trebizond flank him on each side.

Travis Somerville, Exiled, 2017, Graphite and charcoal on feed sack, Soviet soldiers epaulets, 106.7 x 96.5 cm
Travis Somerville, Exiled, 2017, Graphite and charcoal on feed sack, Soviet soldiers epaulets, 106.7 x 96.5 cm

Quite a few “samenesses” between the then and now.

I am not sure that the double meaning is intentional in the terms GTG prints in its handout: “approaching ways of looking” – from where? to whom? by what? Are ways of looking distinct from ways of seeing? 

The verbs seeing, looking and watching, situate each activity in subtly different realms of attention and meaning.  In life and in art. Yet – what I see  I perceive as a process to make visible – even, particularly,  the invisible, e.g. empathy, fear, insecurity.  Human condition.

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Travis Somerville, This Land, 2017, graphite on vintage cotton pick sack, appr 256.5 x 133.3. cm

Drawing and painting, both have near hypnotising capacity to find correspondence between a fleeting perception and the unmovable marks on the ground. Between seeing and naming.  Between observed and made up.  I recall  Paul Klee: “Art does not reproduce the visible, it makes visible.”

Therefore, thinking of the art, I tend to replace the words “ways of looking”  with “ways of making visible”.

In the above drawing, the fatal experience of being “lost at sea” between escape and arrival arrests the retrieval of that experience in one moment.  While the reality is inherently fugitive.  As is generally the case with visual perception.  It may imprint on memory if my eidetic memory is good.  The rest is, as Balzac pointed out,  indéfinissable.

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On the image immediately above – a challenging 8-part painting by Travis Somerville that echoes Géricault’s Raft of Medusa, with its political charge. The Raft, 2016, demands to fragment perception into a stream of many partial views, resisting offering one all-embracing one.

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Travis Somerville, The Raft, 2017, Oil on Canvas 8 sections, 67 in. x 126 in.

It successfully transfers to me the impossibility of grasping it as a whole.  Like any of Breughel’s “tableaux”.  The event’s dynamic is not susceptible to one dominant view. This ragged composition mediates an experience of being inside a story.   There is no sign of the order of Alberti’s disegno.  Instead, the colours weep, accuse, make hope not to be swallowed by dark waves. The darkness of what it is they collectively make visible.

The choice of painting it in fragments removes the narrative from sliding into sentimental historical drama. Instead, it revives a mechanism of restraint akin to  Zola’s “j’accuse”… and hits hard the central issue:  the tragedy strikes and unfolds, strikes and unfolds … its duration unpredictable.  Homeland Insecurity  mirrors the experience as it would be lived,  a part after a part.

 

Mediation of reality by subverting the convention by control and absurdity appears in a display of the five exhibits by Ian Cumberland  in Gallery One.

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The title A common fiction appears both ironic and wondrous.  Is it a futile literalism that turns a portrait into a genre, à la Pieter Breughel the Elder? Just with one person, not as many as the 16th painter would do.  Or is it turning a portrait into a still life?

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The first “tableau” includes a carpet covering the floor, also painted on the panel with a fallen man. Suspended from a rough wooden support on the painting’s dorso, the body is seen from its back,  moving its head slightly now and then, movement afforded by the virtue of lens-based media.

Higher up on the wall, two video screens run information about various health issues.

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The All Consuming Selfie (2918)   presents a tromp l’oeil of the carpet around the hyperrealist (photorealist) rendering of the body. The painting and its support are the mute, unmovable parts.  The faith in the power of the painted image is immediately undermined by screens with words on the wall and projection of the pose of the man seen from the back.  Is it a pleonasm? Is it needed because the trust in mute poetry is waining? Matching up the two modes of representation cannot escape the dominance of “la différance” in the perception of visual images and text.

Adrian Navarro (Boston, 1973. Living and working in London)  pointed to a paradox inherent in painting practice.

“Man is an alienated being who thinks he is free. The same thing happens with painting, it is a free and expressive medium whose aim is the communication of a view of the world, where that freedom is not possible. This is the paradox I try to represent. “

Cumberland also explores the dichotomy between confinement and freedom inherent in painting and by focusing on a figure,  extended to the human being.

Ian Cumberland, Boom and Bust, 2017/18, oil on linen, video.
Ian Cumberland, Boom and Bust, 2017/18, oil on linen, video.

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To a certain extent, the installations are similar to still life.  The presence of the human being does not violate the terms of still life, as formulated by 17th C Dutch paintings.  Hypnotic ambivalence erases any chance of hebetude. Like Paul Cezanne, the painter is first true to the motif, but after that he plays with omens of impermanence.  Spark -germinate-unravel.  There are clues in brushtrokes and in attachments of real objects: flag, cage, wood, neon, carpet….

Ian Cumberland, Manufacturing consent (detail), 2018, oil on linen, wood, metal, 200 x 340 x 156 cm
Ian Cumberland, Manufacturing consent (detail), 2018, oil on linen, wood, metal, 200 x 340 x 156 cm
Ian Cumberland, Manufacturing consent, 2018, oil on linen, wood, metal, 200 x 340 x 156 cm
Ian Cumberland, Manufacturing consent, 2018, oil on linen, wood, metal, 200 x 340 x 156 cm

Quiet confrontations of representational accuracy and installed objects create less dissonance than the sudden “blind” gris-en-gris divided brushstrokes. Could be intentional or not. Make me think of decay.

Objects are there as if the painting needed them.  As if without them it would be incomplete.  Their “reality” results in estrangement of the painted part.  The question arises – what kind of alienation is that?

Ian Cumberland, False Flags 2018, oil on linen, mixed media
Ian Cumberland, False Flags 2018, oil on linen, mixed media

Marxism  defines alienation as hiatus between the worker and the product of work.  That’s not the case here.  Bertold Brecht established that estrangement enhances criticality and awareness.

That is applicable to these exhibits.  The caged painting and the woman’s gesture align to indicate a court procedure. Only to be undermined by the domestic setting behind her.  So this alienation is both similar and different from Brecht’s proposition.

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Ian Cumberland, Get the look, 2027-18, oil on linen, neon
Ian Cumberland, Get the look, 2027-18, oil on linen, neon

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Handwritten over the above  painting is the cost of each item in GBP, e.g. material, the model, etc.

Listing the model is a significant marker, that the painter works in the European tradition  – not the newer way of using photographs or video or cinema stills.

That leads me to conclude that this painter defends representational figurative painting by wishing it, letting it, win a competition with real objects.  That is, what I sense to be foregrounded. Through exposing it to estrangement, alienation works like Shklovsky’s foregrounding or defamiliarisation.

In his 1917 text Art as Technique he distinguishes poetic language from ordinary language :

The purpose of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make objects ‘unfamiliar,’ to make forms difficult to increase the difficulty and length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself and must be prolonged.” (Shklovsky 16)

Cumberland  moves in the world of common reality, such as the animation of inanimate objects, but evolves defamiliarizing the viewer and provoking an uncanny feeling.

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The slowing down of perception ( like the smear of the blind blue-grey of the pills onto the hand) injects energy into a physical system of paint to “originate” difference, change, value, motion, presence.  Making painting strange (e.g. both by tromp l’oeil of the carpet and confrontation with real carpet) motivates comparison and recognition of “la différance”…

____

Images courtesy Simon Mills and Golden Thread Gallery.

Phil Collins: This is the day. MAC Belfast, 10 Aug – 21 Oct 2018

A mix of installation,  still photography, video, painting, sound, water and black sand, are installed in all three MAC galleries:

Ceremony, 2017 in Upper Gallery

Delete Beach, 2o16, in the Tall Gallery

Free Fotolab, 2009 in the adjacent room

The meaning of Style,2011 in the Sunken Gallery

John Stuart Mill thought in On Liberty (1859) that a largely mistaken position can still contain some small elements of truth, as well as serving as a stimulus to thought by provoking us to demonstrate what is wrong with it.  By “a mistaken position” I mean the decision to stretch the story of moving a mediocre sculpture of F Engels from a Ukrainian village to Manchester to 60 minutes.  Visitors to the art gallery were overheard on returning the handout with words – “I do not have an hour ” – few others stayed.  I did not watch it in its entirety, although visited it twice.

This installation with HD video, colour and sound have been supported by Arts Council England’s Ambition for Excellence, the BBC, the Henry Moore Foundation and My Festival Circle.  No mere visitor can add to these fanfares. It was co-commissioned by 14 – 18 Now, Home, Manchester and the Manchester International Festival and produced by them, Shady Lane Production and Tigerlily Production.

Collins has a master’s touch to enliven the elements of truth with a chance  and a whim as well as with meticulously planned and executed craft, which I sensed to be valuable for a film director.

The installation underestimates mute poetry, propping the visual thoughts at all times with words.  As if the appropriation of a documentary mode cannot be visually beautiful and exciting without speaking. As if a video had not a gate for every value from vulgar curiosity to sublime imagination.  Whim aligns with the description in visual terms,  I recall one powerful detail, when the screen is filled with a part of the side of the container lorry.  Vertigo ensued.  Or the comical details of the torso of the statue anchored in a car tyre for stability.  The images on the sides of the screen were bloodless.  Lifeless in the shadows.  Banal. They attracted curiosity and repelled the attention.

The world does not need another video.  As if anticipating that fatigue, the appropriated mode and look of Japanese anime was projected in darkness on the screen and accessed over heaps of – what seems to be – polluted sand, black from oil, with puddles of dark liquid.  Ostensibly, the environmental “death”  revives the need to end dependence on fossil fuels.

Delete Beach (4 min 50 sec)  was commissioned by Bergen Assembly and supported by Vestnorsk Filmsenter and the German Cultural Foundation.

Again, it is quite verbose, as if not trusting that visual thought can stand alone. It is an erroneous hope that independence from fossil fuels will remove inequality.

The Free Fotolab  is a 35 mm slide projection of 80 anonymous archival photographs, the result of Collins’s call for rolls of undeveloped films.  After being developed,  they were returned to participants on condition that they relinquish the copyright to the artist.  The images come from Milton Keynes, St Gallen, Belgrade, Eindhoven and Banja Luka (=my favourite stopover).

A jet photographic print  Mici’s Last Night, 2002, completes the Tall Gallery installation.

As art belongs more to the viewer than its creator,  Collins’s propulsive efficiency sways the installations and projections into a spectacle.   The Meaning of Style, 2011, is a particularly immersive take on cinéma verité. Aesthetically it flattens into a stasis which insists on sameness. The wish to break free descends palpably in the views of men silently reading, or letting butterflies perch on one’s ear.

Made me think of Fluxus – specifically Eric Andersen’s mastery of “being busy” reading words backward.

Indeed, the economy of means matters, when escaping from that cave (Plato)

Écho, parlant quant bruit on mène
Dessus rivière ou sus étang,
Qui beauté   trop plus qu’humaine ?
Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?

(Francois Villon….)

 

 

 

The World Smallest Exhibition of Paintings (probably)

Fenderesky Gallery (Belfast, August 2 – September 7, 2018) has displayed paintings from 41 artists, the larger ones on Gallery Ground Floor, the small ones upstairs on two walls facing each other.

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Photo credit Charlie Scott

Good eye and sense of adventure allowed the diagonals to stutter, turn back on themselves, make room for other lines of vision or just be confident to keep their initial direction.  Visual melody effortlessly issues, insisting that each painting submits its difference to connect to the others.  I see it as an installation, as a chorus of different voices harmonizing with the others.  Polyphony  – mute and visible.

Fenderesky second wall
Photo credit Charlie Scott

Compare the confidence of Dan Shipsides application of golden section

Dan Shipsides
Photo credit Helen G Blake

with Helen G Blake patiently breathing spirit into a pattern and repeat and willful red destroyers of the sameness. That hers is twice the size of the enigmatic three tones above seems to undermine the popular understanding of scale as determining aesthetic value. Both deliciously private,  to the point and without fanfare.

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Helen G Blake, Cake, 2018. photo Helen G Blake

The majority of paintings upstairs are the size of a postcard or a little less or little more.  They all are full blooded compositions, confident not to ask for more support than a holding palm.

Barbara Freeman feeds the hues with energy sufficient for a larger size of canvas. Yet – these are not miniatures.

Barbara Freeman
Photo Helen G Blake

A miniature refuses such promiscuity,  insisting on the chosen small scale.

Anja-Markiewicz-2

Anja Markiewicz makes contemporary miniatures, which, like butterflies or flowers, are faithful to the determined size.  I noted few of the small paintings on either wall heading in that direction too but stopping just there.

installation shot Fenderesky
Photo Helen G Blake
Lisa Gingles
Lisa Gingles

It appears to me that the eye zooms on the size of the “brushstroke” to become convinced that the size is right.  The onscreen reproduction removes that certainty.

Pat Harris
Pat Harris

The intense open-ended scale allows intoxication by playful promiscuity. In the sense and to what extent mute poetry belonged to the audience,  numerous of these small paintings are sedulous.

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Paddy McCann, photo credit Charlie Scott.

And immersive. Evocative like medieval portable small paintings can be.

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Wilton Diptych, NG London , 1395 – 9, egg on oak, 53 x 37 cm

 

Ronnie Hughes
Ronnie Hughes, Photo Helen G Blake

 

Tony Hill
Tony Hill, photo Helen G Blake

The promiscuity of scale in abstract paintings allows access to enjoyable insecurity –  it is not threatening.  Does it work differently in narrative, figurative mode?  Possibly –  the scale is internally bound to the size of the brushstroke in its descriptive mode.  If the canvas were bigger – the marks would need to be bigger – like in a  fresco. I recall that Goya preferred to use a sponge instead of a brush while working on the fresco at San Antonio de la Florida.

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Peter Burns, photo Helen G Blake

Whereas abstraction sits comfortably with brush strokes or stains of any size.

Louise Wallace at FDSC_4043
Louise Wallace, photo Helen G Blake
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David Crone, photo Helen G Blake

Whereas – when Sharon Kelly combines stains with writing the image gets locked in the small size.

Sharon Kelly at F

It is representational as well as autonomous.

In the space of several yards, the distance between Fenderesky and Engine Room galleries,  there were around 130  paintings on show.  Some harvest! Some trust in the mute poetry.