Artmanjosephgrech

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

1863 Exqusite and necessary forms of Pain. Sophe Calle, International horror and Wallander

Over the past decade there are three series of images of human suffering on a scale which is difficult for most human beings to comprehend except through the circumstances of individuals. The first was those of 9/11. The terror of those in the aircraft which flew into the twin towers, the Pentagon and the fourth where the passengers attempted to overcome their captors knowing that pain and death was likely, coupled with those trapped in the higher floors of the building, especially those who decided to jump, and of the fire, police and other rescue workers who went into those buildings and then realising they were collapsing on top of them,

The second was the Tsunami rush of water which swallowed up populations of towns, villagers and holiday makers.

The third is only emerging now and I find them even more difficult than usual to bear. The firemen standing among the rubble of a community school where their dogs have confirmed what surviving local have said, there is no one left alive here and where those who survived are too shocked and full of grief to do anything of themselves.

Then there are the uplifting stories of the survivors, two children brought out from under the ruins after a week, a young woman who immediate sang a hymn of gratitude to her rescuers and her God. The frustration of the reporters, undertaking the essential task of bringing the horror to the attention of the world so that Government, agencies and you and me with reach into our pockets to provide a little of what will be required and press the authorities to get their act together and provide more and better help than they are have been able to do until now.

What impact will these experiences have on them and all those who are directly helping, the locators of bodies and providers of burials of the unknown reminiscent of the mud swamps of the first world war. This is real suffering and real pain although experienced at a safe distance by the majority able to continue with the rest of our lives as if nothing unusual has taken place.

The work of Sophie Calle, the contemporary concept and performance artist, photographer and mini film maker, which continues to impress me most is Exquisite Pain in which she compares her changing thoughts and feelings about a personal experience which devastated her at the time with that of friends who have experienced personal loss and physical pain of varying intensity and circumstance. The work is a brilliant demonstration of how our thoughts and emotions usually change over time and how in each individual situation it is usual to be overwhelmed and unaffected by everything else that is happening around us, including the pain of others, which objectively may be worse, until a distance develops between the actual moments of our individual experience and we can place the experience in the context of the rest of our lives, before and since, as well as in the context of the lives of others and the history of human and animal kind and our surrounding physical world.

In the same way that some people enjoy films about horror and blood shedding, including recreations of acts of extreme violence, I wallow in work of emotional intensity. I cry with any sentimentality at the cinema and over the past year have discovered the sophisticated grandeur of the live operatic experience of loss, self sacrifice and death with Madam Butterfly, Aida, Il Travatore and Carmen, and of Turandot, but to less extent. Five years ago I rediscovered the emotional fix live drama when the Playhouse reopened in Newcastle, and the Sophie Calle work was made into a theatrical performance without interval. This work had the most influence on how I approached my own project since visiting the Saatchi 100 show at the former County Hall building followed the same day by my first visit to the Tate Modern further along the south embankment of the river Thames. My two visits to the Sophie Calle exhibition at the Whitechapel in December of last year has not had such a dramatic impact as those before but reinforced and reinvigorated my work rather shifting it into a new direction. I returned to the gallery just before Christmas because of wanting to experience the bank of screens in which women performed the letter at the core of Take Care of Yourself, some adding their reactions. I watched what I thought was a set cycle in which one of the continuously playing screens became the centrepiece with sound. I discovered that the order of showing within each cycle changes which pleased me considerably. After the performance of Exquisite Pain at the Playhouse I had attended a short open session with the Director and actors and asked if they varied the order in which the experiences of Sophie’s friends are interjected between the changing account of her own. The reaction for the Director was in effect that I was daft to raise such a suggestion which seemed to me to miss a fundamental point of the work.

My visit in Christmas week also reinforced my view that that three distinct groups of people visit art exhibitions. There are the tourist attraction visitor who goes to the Tate Modern or the Baltic at Gateshead who have had no previous interest in contemporary art or prepared for the particular exhibition(s), who pass through and who may stop at a particular work, usually for seconds before moving on. There are those with an interest in contemporary art, knowing something of the work and the artist before arriving and may spend time in reacting and considering the exhibition and to individual works, but rarely from my experience attempt to take in everything in one session. And then there are the artists usually students and young who go to study as well as experience and enjoy, and where at the Calle, there was more evidence than previously experienced of those sitting somewhere with a note book. It was evident from both visits to the Whitechapel that the majority if not everyone had come with prior knowledge of the work of Sophie Calle, even if they had not experienced the work directly before. Having said this only one other individual appeared to stay experiencing the different screens as they went through a cycle. The average stay was for one or two screen performance. Perhaps having grasped the concept they were not interested in its execution and therefore missed the extent which the same subject, a letter, can be read and interpreted and in this instance performed by singers and musicians as well as read.

Pain was also the subject of the last Wallander of the second series of three dramatizations of the nine novels of Henning Mankell. As with the other works, the subject is familiar, that of revenge killings where there is similarity in the modus operandi but the absence of an link. The killings are all of men where the victims die horribly. One retired man spends his time watching birds, and is impaled when he falls from a tampered viewing area. A florist is kept prisoner, starved and then tied to a tree to die. A jogger is placed in a bag loaded with rocks and dropped into water, with only the face exposed and also three were able to look into the face of the murderer before they departed, Only the fourth is prevented, a railway guard as he is about to be pushed under an arriving train.

Wallander and his team gradually discover that the connecting link is a self help group for women who have experienced violence within a relationship and that the organiser of the group is the likely murderess whose mother had also been a victim and had recently died. And then we come to the significant difference between this work and most others and will become an award winning episode among all three award winning masterpieces of dramatic storytelling scripting and acting.

The special ingredient is the character and life of Wallander and acting of Kenneth Branagh.

In this episode there is the sudden death of his father. Wallander visits his father at the residential home where the man has placed himself aware he is a burden to his family as Alzheimer’s takes stronger hold and he pleads with Wallander to takes him home where his life had some meaning. In one of the brief moments of clarity he talks of the joy of just sitting watching the passing of nature’s time and tells his son that he also should have someone to sit with him. Shortly afterwards, Wallander, while in the midst of the murder inquiry, is told that his father has died and he rushes to find that this is so and is immediately confronted with all the unresolved issues of their relationship, his father’s rejection of him, which was not just illness generated, and his own failure to spend more time with the man, and where the nature of his work and its demands was an important factor, but only one of several factors in the gulf between them, a gulf which one suspects had always been there.

I project this because of my own experience where my biological mother denied my existence in public throughout my life until going into care at the age of 96, when Alzheimer’s had already taken a strong hold and showed no affection during my childhood, never talked of my father or of our subsequent relationship and where in fairness several aspects of my life did live up to her fears about me and that I never measured up to any hopes and good wishes she possessed for me. And this was so until moving her to a residential home in South Shields where she progressed from the sad and angry stage of the disease into a demonstrable loving and happy person retaining the childlike belief in her Catholicism until her last breath, despite the pain and discomfort of her last weeks and days at the local general hospital. I was in the fortunate position of being to visit almost every day staying an average of one hour and although at times as he was unsure of who I was and although our ability to communicate directly ended over time we communicated and stabled a bond stronger than ever before and I had my childhood through her progress into babyhood and felt atonement for my many failures in other relationships and experiences.

This was not so for Wallander and worse was to come when arriving just in time to meet his daughter at the station for the funeral he found that his ex wife was with her at his daughter’s request. This was the first time they had met since the divorce and both communicated the challenge of the situation and he was confronted by his own loneliness and inability to come to terms with what had happened between them, especially when she confirmed that she was happy in the life that had developed since their parting. She has moved on, he had not. The film ends with both returning to his father’s graveside, and he leaves his wedding ring behind.

There are two other memorable magic moments. The first when he calls at the home of someone who had a relationship with one of the murdered men who physically abused her against her wishes. He is attracted to the woman who also reacts in a positive way to his visit as does her young son. On the wall he sees one of his father’s paintings which she inherited when acquiring the apartment. She thinks this is a print and he explains that his father only painted the same scenes with slight variations throughout his life, producing thousands of editions. The moment was wonderful because of the way Kenneth Branagh was able to communicate the pride felt in being able to explain about his father’s work and recent death to someone who appreciated the painting.

However the moment which was one of the most the most remarkable of dramatic portrayals of reality I have experienced during my own lifetime was when Wallander confronts the murderer and who manages to take him prisoner producing a gun with the consequence that colleagues, including a marksman, focus on the murderer. Wallander pleads with the woman to surrender or she will be killed unless she puts down the weapon and for a few seconds it looks as if he is successful as she breaks down in floods of tears in his arms but then turns the weapon on her self.

What had emerged beforehand is that the killing spree had commenced shortly after the mother of the women died and Wallander having just experienced the death of his father knew from his recent experience which included, meeting his wife after a period since their divorce that it can trigger extremes of behaviour with some children experience relief and a sense of freedom where others are devastated because of the closeness and bonds which had existed. There was also empathy for the murderess built up during the episode as we learnt of the extent to which those killed who had physically violated their partners, some assaulting a succession of women. Branagh was playing someone whose work and conviction was to apprehend the guilty and bring them to the justice of the society which employed him for such a purpose. At the same time Branagh also conveyed a man who believed he understood why the woman had behaved as she had. She would still have to face action of society against her and indeed punishments for actions for whatever the trigger and justification, the killings were premeditated and horrific involving torture and infliction of intense pain, but he also wanted her to have the opportunity for atonement and redemption. The level of acting was extraordinary.

We all need to experience both kinds of pain, that of the actual relayed and that of the drama and the performance. We do not need to experience directly and many people’s experience is limited in their lifetime although I suspect those who never experience directly are small in number. Because of this there is need to prepare for the eventuality and where through the reporting and experiencing in dramatic form we are able cope better when it happens to us and to show compassion and provide support to others when it happens to them.

Saturday, 9 January 2010

1350 Art, Durham Cricket Tyne Tees Derby

08.15 Over the past few days I have been trying to put myself in the position of the early human beings who worked out how to create fire, how to fish, how to kill animals and discard the harmful components, how to eat and then cook the things that grew out of the ground which they were also able to distinguish from those which made them sick and which made some die.

I also wondered about the human beings who in different places and at different times first decided it would be good to draw and paint and tell stories or make objects, or sing or make noises, or move their bodies. What made one human do one thing from another? Was the first impulse emotional? How much thought went into the first actions.

I also wondered about those first human beings who looked up at the falling rain or snow and wondered what it was, or speculated about the force that blew at different speeds and could move the clouds in the sky, and why it became light and became dark, or of that the first individual, perhaps in a cave, alone and afraid who thought about death as well as about life.
Such beings were the first human creatives, the first artists, the first teachers and first spiritual guides. They also had to hunt and fish, find shelter and warmth and know how to defend themselves, their mates, their children and their parents when they aged and could not longer hunt and fish and make shelter for themselves.

At various times in various places a community was formed of sufficient size and organisation that it was possible for individual human beings to contribute to their society as creatives, artists, writers, thinkers and teachers, and such like. It can be argued that the division of labour was necessary for society to progress as it was for each skill to develop techniques and methods, a body of knowledge first based on experience and then on written record, and to develop its own language and then systems for testing the knowledge and the skill, awarding competence, and rewarding exceptional ability. Sometimes I wonder if such a division was a good thing and that that we have lost more than we have gained when we lose the capacity to provide food, provide shelter, provide entertainment and provide for our owns security and those of others close to us. But whether it was good or bad, it has happened and for most people and for the most part it is necessary to adapt and accept change if we are to survive.

The function of those who draw, paint, write, who create objects, create and perform music, dance and drama has and remains varied: for pleasure and entertainment of oneself and others, to celebrate, venerate and pay tribute to the physical environment, the metaphysical, the supernatural and the spiritual, to show appreciation, respect and feeling for one or more others, or question and challenge aspects of the human beings, individually and collectively and over time the activity has been generated to create personal wealth, power and status. The emphasis or priority given by the creators has and will continue to vary and enables those who wish to examine the work of previous generations to learn something of the nature of the society and of the position of creativity within that society.

It appears to me that there have always been those creatives who become recognised, become fashionable, become rewarded for their work while other will be mocked, or ignored or make others angry or afraid, and they and their work is rejected, banished and even destroyed and that this will always be so.

To-day the position has only changed in one significant respect in that we can sit in our modern caves and with comparatively small amounts of trading goods we can experience something of the creations that are known to have existed and are continuing to be created from the commencement of time on planet earth and we can communicate with those who are creating, who are collecting, conserving and curating, who are thinking and teaching, who are learning or just enjoying and experiencing and sharing, and we can communicate anywhere and anytime in the known world, and perhaps presently unknown to us to other beings beyond.

Having expressed my own regret at not being able to hunt and fish, raise animals and grow crop, build my shelter, and suck like I also believe it is a good thing that when an individual human being shows a desire and an aptitude in some activity they are provided with all the help and the knowledge to enable them to satisfy themselves and those others interested in that activity, and that for this we have created teachers and tutors, schools, colleges and universities, and in order to differentiate between levels of activity and ability we devise tests to find out what has been learnt and what individuals can do and that as a consequence assign them roles, and in some instance give them full time or part work in the activity in question.

You do not have to go through these formal processes and structures to engage in the activity or excel at it, unless you live in a society which requires to do so, but in general the formal system of education, training and the management of practice has led to the creation of things we all value and which have stood the test of time.

However as I mentioned recently in relation to something else it is also fact that some creatives are different and special and contribute to society disproportionately to the majority of others, even if those others have also been educated and trained and have become experienced

For my part I came to what I do now and what I think and say about it, differently from those who are presently recognised as the experts in the doing, evaluating, collecting and showing and had I been younger, or wanted to do something different, I would have followed the available routes to learn, to be tested, rated and certificated. I would have done this not because I need to, but because like every mountain, desert, ocean bed, deep forest or glacial wilderness because it is there. I would also like to see more of what there is to see and to experience at first hand instead of through relayed pictures and sounds

I am confident, however, that given my experience of life beforehand I would not have arrived at different conclusions about what I need to do, how I need to do it, what I hope to achieve, or what I think and feel about the work of others.

I am a creative who needs and wants and has the means to create. I also used be someone who set out to intentionally influence, but no longer, for reasons, some private and some which can be made public. I have always had, and I still have the drive and the patience to complete what I am involved with on the basis of what I or others decided should be the desired outcome, or to adapt or significantly change, and even abandon projects according to priorities and circumstances.

It does not matter to me or affect what I think, believe say or do that some individuals create one thing in one way and then spend the rest of their time reproducing the thing in the same way or differently, whether they make no money, sufficient to live on money, or rich money beyond need to continue doing what they want and are able to do, whether they are recognised by the their peers or the rest of the world or not if they give what they do.
I have formed the opinion that art becomes historical the moment it ceases to be contemporary and that it is contemporary only from the moment of its conception until the moment its creator determines that it is completed.

I regard myself as a contemporary creative artist and therefore not someone just creating contemporary artworks because I am doing what I am doing full time. I am interested in historical art and I would like to possess the knowledge and the skill to reproduce some historical art but this is not my priority or immediate interest. I am expressing my thoughts and feelings through my work balancing between what I am capable and able to do with the available techniques and processes presently available. Therefore on one hand to qualify as a contemporary artist I should make available all what I do to anyone anywhere any time with the technology, and interact with those who wish to interact with me, but I am limited by the means to do this and the willingness to make everything all time open and available because of the belief and the commitment to what should be personal, private and confidential and what can and should be open and public.

Something is art if it is art to me.

Something is not good or bad, brilliant or poor because it is popular or appreciated by only a few. I know if something is good or bad, brilliant or poor and the opinion of others should be significance only to them.

Fashion is for those who wish to be fashionableIndividualist art is art created exclusively by an individual

Collective art is art which is created by more than one individual and that applies to all work where the artist uses the material and labour of others. I regard my myspace site as a separate and a component part of my artwork project and therefore it is a collectively art component, dependent on myspace and anyone who adds comments for example or becomes listed as a friend. The work cannot exist with me or you.

10.30 It is nearly time for cricket and football so there is washing up and washing me, preparing food and will need to think more and re write what I have written.

23.00 I have significantly rewritten what I wrote first thing this morning original has been printed and is part of work development set 2060.

23.30 Washing up of the day has been completed and rubbish ready for putting out in the morning There was coffee twice and one toast (a concession) in the morning. I had a small plate of vegetables just before the match started and then half the stuffed roast pork joint with six or seven slices of roast potato at half time. This evening I had a defrosted prawn salad with olives and more pieces of cucumber than usual with two slices of nutty brown bread and my last can of Pepsi Cola with the intention of buying no more until the weight is below sixteen stone There was one cup of tea and I am about to drink iced water, undesirable before bedtime but better than anything else and I have gone off drinking OJ.(I did not drink the water as I lost the need during further writing and viewing)
At 11.30 Sky was at the Riverside for the first competitive cricket match of new season against the nearest county team of Yorkshire and where extraordinarily Durham had become the team to beat as the holders of the competition which involves ten 50 over innings games played home and away in a mini league and then quarter and semi finals with the final played at Lords in August. I was due to attend the final last year and then my mother went into hospital. I used to attend most days of cricket played around the County and once a year in Northumberland after Durham became part of First class cricket and the annual visited to Darlington, Stockton, Hartlepool, Chester le Street, and Gateshead were always of interest as well as to the beautiful university ground at Durham City before the Riverside Ground also at Chester Le Street was opened and then developed. I also enjoyed visits to various county grounds, at Headingly and Harrogate of Yorkshire, at Lancashire's ground at Manchester City, to Grace Road Leicester and Trent Bridge Nottingham, Warwickshire's ground in Birmingham close to the university where I studied for a year and then to the London area grounds especially the Oval where I visited as a boy and saw the last innings of Sir Donald Bradman and the great Sir Len Hutton whose autobiography he signed for me and Lords where as a Durham member I was able to use the Long Room, and the grounds of Kent at Canterbury and Maidstone, and Sussex at Hove but did I get to Essex, missing out on Cardiff although I have visited the city and passed ground when there was play, and Somerset, Worcestershire, Hampshire, and Derby, I think. The day was bitterly cold, the word freezing was used and the audience. well it could not be called a crowd, was negligible because of the weather, because of the football derby and because it was on the telly. As the first competitive game of this season and as preparatory matches and preparatory work outside had been non existent, the decision was taken in all the matches where play was possible, in four it was not, for the captain who won the coin toss to ask the other side to bat first and this was so with Yorkshire who were without their captain Darren Gough, but under the leadership of Mr Moxon who was instrumental in creating the Durham success but then could not resist the opportunity to join his home county in a similar role midway during the season. There is therefore added rivalry as there would be if Keegan left Newcastle and Keane took over although a better comparison would if Keegan had first gone to Sunderland and then moved to Newcastle. Durham had two Harmison's but no Collingwood and last year's West Indian bowling star has become coach to the English Team. The start was slow and boring and I felt for the brave souls wrapped up in blankets clutching coffee flask.

13.00-15.20 The first Tyne Wear Derby for a couple of years was a challenge. There would have been no problem had Sam Alladyce been in charge but with Kevin back the problem was different. I hoped to enjoy the game and for the result to be a draw. Unfortunately Sunderland quickly lost heart to a brilliant Michael Own headed goal and you felt their fate was sealed when just before half time there was penalty which Owen also converted, but only just.. They tried harder in the second half and had one bullet header from Jones not been saved the outcome might have been different. The Toon will have bragging rights until the next time.

15.20 I rushed out to Tesco in the hope of a Mail on Sunday which contained a Simply Red CD but not expecting there would be any Brit Film DVD's. On the way back I passed a pub where a Sunderland and a Newcastle shirt fan were enjoying a fag in the afternoon sunshine perhaps husband and wife, boy and girl friend but that is Shields. a town divided between the two team, within streets and within houses.

16.00-19.00 At first it looked as if Durham were going to have a good first win as they reached over 200 runs with one good score of 77 and then put the Tykes under the cosh with five wickets for 75 or so runs. It looked as if the game was over, ho, ho, ho, slowly, despite the loss of further wickets Yorkshire held on and then all the Durham substantial advantage was thrown away in one crazy over yielding over 20 runs. All was not lost with the final wicket taken with one ball to go. The winning margin was 5 runs but the overall performance indicated that last year's progress was not a flash in the pan. It got even colder as the evening progressed and quite dark. I could feel that cold sitting in my warm from the memory of occasions when I had been there although admitted I did watch one early match against Scotland from inside the restaurant area, watching first to last ball without ever sitting in the open air.

20.00-22.00 Foyle's War was magnificent as it explored again the impact of the ending of the war with Germany on returning service men and on the community. It recaptured feelings which I remember so well. The scene of the promenade with the beach fenced off with barbed wire, other obstacles and warning signs Danger keep out, was exactly as I remember, as well as the VE day and returning home of the soldier, and the telegram from the one who did not.

00.30-01.30. I went to the internet to see if BBC Eye were showing the TV Baftas and my attention was taken by programme about a young single mother ( alleged) struggling to pay her university student fees) and doing lap dancing which is actually stripping naked for a fee of £15 from the punter but where the girl pays the joint owner £85 a night for the privilege so that makes 10-12 punters to make any profit if taxis and drinks were taken into account I quickly realised this was not a documentary but a clever drama film produced by the Ministry of Information to warn young women away early single parenthood and dipping their toe in the sex industry where with the help of the programme the lass was introduced to someone who said she could earn £900 in a night as an escort and someone else £2000 a week in the porn end of the market. The most interesting and revealing exposure was however the London based fixer who arranged girls to escort celebrities to parties, in this instance the Brits but where she failed miserably on all counts. You knew the evening was to end with disaster when the she was told she did not have hair, make up or clothes suitable and incredulity was stretched when she decided to go home to catch the last train around 11 pm having been contracted to stay until 12.30 and paid up front and of course what she did after that and who with was then her own business. She was clearly after meeting some famous millionaire who would pay her debts and give her the life, including mansion which she stated she longed for. The clue about the nature of this programme is that she was studying to be an actress but found it difficult to find time to learn her lines, but was being given an A grade for performance although if it was not clear if this was from her personal tutor who she was sharing the home with, but was somehow managing to increase her overall debts, including to him and he admitted he could lose his job if the his employers found out which did not seem to worry him given that he was announcing the situation on the telly. The levels of delusion and exploitation were upsetting. Reality usually is. Hopefully I will be able to watch the Bafta later in the Day.

1349 Remodernism

16.00 The day has continued from last night except that I was able to get the next two British War film DVD's in early morning blue sky. In fact in kept cloudless over my hill for the greater part of the day although I could see the cloud stretching back over the river towards Gateshead and Newcastle. I celebrated the day with a coffee in cafe and then had another with toast on return (A nutty brown bread but where have all the cheap breads gone, long long time ago) I continued listening to the Blues Sun House's version of County Farm Blues is a good one, Ruby Hayes version of One scotch, One Bourbon and One Beer reminded of the days when I could enjoy a bottle of bubbly without looking down at the size of my tum and feeling the back ache when I walk a mile or more from overweight. Jimi Hendrix Voodoo Child, Am I one of the few that never took to Mr Hendrix's music. James Blood Ulmer with You know I know sums an important aspect of my being; Buddy Guy and Junior performed a solid version of classic Hocchie Couchie Man and which for me will always be associated with George Melly (Hope you are enjoying your perpetual jazz cellar with plenty of booze and birds George. Hear me talkin to ya)The original and authentic blues man Muddy Waters is great on Wailing Blues. I also liked the unknown to me Ella James offering herself on Here I am - come and take me, guess she was not short of offers though. The greatest females blues woman of all time was Bessie Smith who summoned up a chunk of my adolescence and later cane across an established artist who included Bessie in her list of musical interests. The new generations miss out on the original soul music of the negro south -Need a little sugar in my bowl, I need a little loving so bad. Katherine Davis followed up the theme with Give it to me Papa Wild about that thing, another George Melly classic Whereas John Guitar Wats said it as it was, Aint that a bitch while being rocked by that jelly roll. And Grady Gains went on about Stealing love. And John Le Hooker Blues for Sunrise spoke of ones hopes for the morrow, Junior Wells went off on his mystery train.

Yesterday I was contacted by Remodernism on myspace which placed me in something of dilemma because I agreed with much of the statement in the manifesto published by Childish and Thompson around 2001, except except for the label Remodernism.

Definition of Remodernism -
Remodernism 'towards a new spirituality in art' Through the course of the 20th century Modernism has progressively lost its way, until finally toppling into the pit of Postmodern balderdash.(It depends on what is balderdah and what is not)
1. Remodernism takes the original principles of Modernism and reapplies them, highlighting vision as opposed to formalism
2. Remodernism is inclusive rather than exclusive and welcomes artists who endeavor to know themselves and find themselves through art processes that strive to connect and include, rather than alienate and exclude. (This is my fundamental connection) founding fathers of Modernism and respects their bravery and integrity in facing and depicting the travails of the human soul through a new art that was no longer subservient to a religious or political dogma and which sought to give voice to the gamut of the human psyche.(great)
THE REMODERNIST MANIFESTO

1. Remodernism takes the original principles of Modernism and reapplies them, highlighting vision as opposed to formalism.

2. Remodernism is inclusive rather than exclusive and welcomes artists who endeavour to know themselves and find themselves through art processes that strive to connect and include, rather than alienate and exclude. Remodernism upholds the spiritual vision of the founding fathers of Modernism and respects their bravery and integrity in facing and depicting the travails of the human soul through a new art that was no longer subservient to a religious or political dogma and which sought to give voice to the gamut of the human psyche.

3. Remodernism discards and replaces Post-Modernism because of its failure to answer or address any important issues of being a human being.

4. Remodernism embodies spiritual depth and meaning and brings to an end an age of scientific materialism, nihilism and spiritual bankruptcy.

5. We don't need more dull, boring, brainless destruction of convention, what we need is not new, but perennial. We need an art that integrates body and soul and recognises enduring and underlying principles which have sustained wisdom and insight throughout humanity's history. This is the proper function of tradition.

6. Modernism has never fulfilled its potential. It is futile to be 'post' something which has not even 'been' properly something in the first place. Remodernism is the rebirth of spiritual art.

7. Spirituality is the journey of the soul on earth. Its first principle is a declaration of intent to face the truth. Truth is what it is, regardless of what we want it to be. Being a spiritual artist means addressing unflinchingly our projections, good and bad, the attractive and the grotesque, our strengths as well as our delusions, in order to know ourselves and thereby our true relationship with others and our connection to the divine.

8. Spiritual art is not about fairyland. It is about taking hold of the rough texture of life. It is about addressing the shadow and making friends with wild dogs. Spirituality is the awareness that everything in life is for a higher purpose.

9. Spiritual art is not religion. Spirituality is humanity's quest to understand itself and finds its symbology through the clarity and integrity of its artists.

10. The making of true art is man's desire to communicate with himself, his fellows and his God. Art that fails to address these issues is not art.

11. It should be noted that technique is dictated by, and only necessary to the extent to which it is commensurate with, the vision of the artist.

12. The Remodernist's job is to bring God back into art but not as God was before. Remodernism is not a religion, but we uphold that it is essential to regain enthusiasm (from the Greek, en theos to be possessed by God).

13. A true art is the visible manifestation, evidence and facilitator of the soul's journey. Spiritual art does not mean the painting of Madonnas or Buddhas. Spiritual art is the painting of things that touch the soul of the artist. Spiritual art does not often look very spiritual, it looks like everything else because spirituality includes everything.

14. Why do we need a new spirituality in art? Because connecting in a meaningful way is what makes people happy. Being understood and understanding each other makes life enjoyable and worth living.

Summary

It is quite clear to anyone of an uncluttered mental disposition that what is now put forward, quite seriously, as art by the ruling elite, is proof that a seemingly rational development of a body of ideas has gone seriously awry. The principles on which Modernism was based are sound, but the conclusions that have now been reached from it are preposterous.

We address this lack of meaning, so that a coherent art can be achieved and this imbalance redressed.

Let there be no doubt, there will be a spiritual renaissance in art because there is nowhere else for art to go. Stuckism's mandate is to initiate that spiritual renaissance now."

Alas I wish I could be as optimistic. Creative Art, Creative visual art in particular, can be divided into historical art and contemporary art. Most will not accept the narrowness of my definition that all art is historical except from the moment of its conception until the moment of its completion. It continues to live and change as an object, and as a contemporary experience by every being who subsequently interacts with its object form and then as an historical experience in the memory, so that even when it is material form dies naturally or is destroyed, it has a continuing existence in the memroy of beings, in the pictures and filming of it. New art is mostly reproduction of historical art and all new creative contemporary art is an expresion of the feelings or lack of them, and the spirituality and the soul or lack of them of the present. There is not more likelihood therefore of contemporary creative art universally becoming fully of spirituality and soul than there is of Christianity, Socialism, Communism, Pacifism and all other combinations of faiths and beliefs becoming practiced universally by human beings individually or collectively because of the nature of human beingness. What is important is that human beings do have the capacity to understand their short comings and limitations and to strive for further enlightenment, continuing in their search for truth and resisting the forces of destruction, of hate and of negativity. The journey to truth ha smany pathways and fundamentally is the method of travel, and awareness of the destination but a lack of concern about arriving.

I listen toThe Alman Brothers Statesborough Blues; J B Hutto Leave your love in. Magic Slim Just before you go. Hound Dog Taylor on Wild about you baby got me going again Irma Thomas does the classic Another Man done Guy Davis Sugar Belle Blues is a good warning to all mother's who allow their 15 year old daughters to dress up like twenty year olds .BB Kings Bad case of love remembering that he will soon be six feet deep bring this session to an end.

17.00. It is time to catch up with the weekend, papers and news. First the MK Dons, Wimbledon that was, the team that provided cup final tickets against Liverpool which they won by one goal to the amazement of everyone especially me. Alex Fergusson's son has also gained promotion as manager of Peterboro. Dad could not be there as he has a crucial match about to start at 17.15. I was about to check the Daily Mail weekend magazine to establish what is on when tonight but an n article about the gorgeous Renee Zellweger caught my attention about her inability to find a life partner and children having reached the age of 39 and become one of Hollywood highest paid and Oscar winning actresses,. John Hurt writes about trying to say sober and make his fourth marriage work at the age of 70. Beware John good intentions, including putting it down in print is no substitute for actually doing it. Take my weight. There is a look at the original St Trinians who are now of my generation grannies The Volvo C 70 looks a great car in the advert which is should as the start price is £25,750. The evening programme is definitely Dr Who and I've Got talent. There was a rerun of I've Got last night which I part watched yesterday evening before the American Idol results show, There is a good article about Andre Johnson who stole the show with his rendition of (did I say rendering yesterday) in the main paper which explains that the image of council estate was wrong. It is nice Housing association area but everything else was correct and both mother and son come out well. Tomorrow is the second match of the season as Sunderland go tot eh Toon at lunch time and the TV Bafta's in the evening which tends to be soap and against soap. But I will go for Foyle's way and hope to watch the Bafta's later on BBC I. Durham is home to Yorkshire on Sunday also on TV so that sorts out my day. The Saturday Daily Mail includes a special edition of Hullo magazine, an essential for Wannabees and this week has photos features on Ronaldo, Antonio Banderas, Mylene Klass ( who?) George Clooney,( bless the old man) he met Gordon Brown and Renee, we take a look at the home of Reese Witherspoon and her beaux Jake Gyllenhaal, and no edition would be without a Beckham who is the world's number two Caleb after David. The Queen is 82 is a couple of days and there is a fact for each year of her life which will keep and which a lead in tot eh main future of future King William Wales Windsor getting his Wings from his father accompanied by future Queen Kate? Will I live to see it? Talking of spice Geri is still in the picture and so is Elizabeth Hurley in fund raising pink along with Elton, Gary Rhodes has been transformed by his wife into a beefcake hat is not on anyone else's menu. The cheese cake is provided by Lisa B and a bevy of brides but there is also a recipe for an edible lemon one with wholegrain, and then lots of adverts plus a feature on Crab which is of interest.

Enjoyed Dr Who with an anti slavery message and aliens can be fun and then there was an early episode first series of Lost on more 4.had little choices for the evening meal not having defrosted the coated chicken pieces and did not really enjoyed a vegetable pizza which was a little undercooked for my liking. But the pint of lager helped it down.

Britain's Got Talent followed the formula of last week's programme. There were two performers who impressed buy I do not believe they will command more support that those of last week. A ten year old who will make pantomime this Christmas, and Oliver and the like and a young woman for the clubs and Ceylon.

Could not resist seeing Get Carter for the umpteenth time although I now know every scene and most of the script. If you add this film to Our Friends in North you get one valid perspective on Tyneside side four decades past

Have a midnight supper of two slices of chese with salami and play Hearts having got back to 16% Just about keeping up with new work sets of four a day and looking forward to tomorrow.

Monday, 4 January 2010

Wednesday, 2 December 2009

1834 Preparing to meet Sophie Calle

I have had an excellent and memorable long weekend in London with my first highly enjoyable experience of Lebanese food at La Roche, St Martin‘s Lane, followed by an unexpectedly satisfying three course prix fixe lunch with wine and coffee at the Café Rouge, Victoria station. There was my first visit to the Whitechapel Gallery to experience the work of Sophie Calle, only one of handful of large space exhibitions where I was overcome with WOW and also a close identification with the work which I need to test its reality. In contrast this was my most disappointing visit to Tate Modern where only one work was of interest and nothing provoked Wow or a search for notebook and pen. I have not been to the science museum for several decades and was much impressed with the strides made to cater for the most young of children and their parents. I was fortunate to attend the first day showing of a film about the life of Seraphine de Senlis and an evening of Baroque music by candlelight with the Festive orchestra of London at St Martin’s in the Fields, lazed an afternoon at the Royal Festival Hall, eat spiced chicken wings in a quiet corner of St Pancras station and a prepared salad close to the East London Mosque having visited the area where I worked for British Olivetti 50 years ago close to Petticoat, Brick Lane and Toynbee Hall. There were five conversations with strangers and my only regret was not to have brought my camera to have taken a shot of four beautifully dressed Asian young women talking excitedly about the social function they were about to attend across the road from the dodgy looking Nags Head gentleman’s club.

The journey to London, which I now make only three or four times a year, compared with a dozen or more during the 1990’s and around 50 during the twenty years as a local authority chief officer, was the best I can remember. The sun was bright for the walk from my home to South Shields station for the Metro train to Newcastle and I left early to call in at the Wetherspoons for an English Breakfast and coffee noting the number of early morning beer drinkers, many of them regulars, mixed with those taking breakfast, morning coffee or waiting to enjoy an early lunch. There was time at the station to visits Smiths for a copy of Time Out as a last minute development meant that I might be spending the weekend on my own and had made no plans about where I might go and what I could experience. I had also selected the train time as the best price for the midday early afternoon and was pleasantly surprised to find it was scheduled to be an exceptionally fast journey with only a stop at York before Kings Cross.

I had chosen a table seat although I had decided not to have my laptop to hand but to finish reading Kate Hudson’s book on the History of the CND movement. As I ashamedly admit from time to time I am still of big body but the young woman occupying the window seat was even larger and I therefore resisted the opportunity to sit opposite another young and attractive girl to go further along the carriage to an unoccupied seat without a seat ticket and where the window seat was also free as the individual booking the place did not arrive. A lady of my generation, but younger by a few years, was faced with having her case on her lap because there was no space left at either end luggage compartment and a notice asked for the luggage not to block the aisles. The suggestion it was placed below the unoccupied seat, was readily agreed and as a consequence enjoyed a conversation all the way to York. Subjects included the take over of the line by the British Government from National Express, the opportunities of the national bus pass for long journeys, the flooding in Cumbria with the loss of life of the policeman leaving a widow and four children, the death of so many young men in Afghanistan, wartime memories and flooded fields alongside the track on the approach to York, a city which is under constant threat of flooding almost every year. After she departed at York I read and promised to read through the book again soon with notebook to hand for a writing.

I did not have to wait long at St Pancras for the Brighton Thameslink train to East Croydon having purchased a single journey ticket at the automatic machine. There was time to notice that the area under the station width departure and arrivals board at this end of the station was now converted into a sales area for breads, cheeses, continental meats, olives and wine with large kitchen type tables to sample the food and drink as well as take away. I did not need to buy anything for the evening as I had eaten a French baguette with salami on the train down and decided to enjoy a soup, some pot noodles, grapes and dates for supper. This left a large prepared salad of lettuce, tomatoes, a sweet yellow pepper, cucumber, olives and a mixed bean salad for the following day. I was in my room on the 7th floor of central Croydon Travel Lodge by six pm

I decided to watch the first four episodes of the 4th and last series of the 4400 on the DVD I had brought with me, rather than the TV, missing Question Time but catching part of the weekly cocoa time political banter between Diane Abbott, Michael Portillo and what’s his name! For a day spent in packing, unpacking and travelling it has been an enjoyable one. On the train I had studied Time Out and marked possibilities. On page 46 there begins the notices for Major spaces and Exhibitions and on page 48 the was the announcement that Seraphine, winner of seven French Academy awards including best picture, was opening at the two Curzon’s cinemas, two Odeon’s, the Barbican and the Coronet Independent on the following afternoon. I must confess that it was only when her work was displayed in the picture that I associated the name with the work, which had never appealed, although by the time the film ended several of large canvases did, but fairly low in the pecking order of works I would like to have close by had I the funds and inclination to do so.

On page 49 under major space Critics’ choice. The fifth and final was Sophie Calle. I will write separately about the Sophie Caller experience. I immediately turned to page 50 where the Whitechapel Gallery was listed alphabetically in the major space section. There was a half page advert for the Seraphine film in film section where I looked to see if the children’s film UP was still showing somewhere in 3D.

Under literary events I noted that Professor Robert Barsky from the USA was talking at Peace News about the work of Noam Chomsky at 5pm on Friday at Houseman’s almost 50 years to the day I was offered a temporary job there over for a month until Christmas. Martin Bell was at Wanstead Library that night and Stephen Poliakoff at Foyle’s also on Thursday at 6.30. Jules Holland was at the Royal Albert Hall and James Morrison at the Wembley Arena. There was a Mozart Requiem on the Friday evening, the Baroque on the Saturday. There was an England National Opera Production of Turandot on Thursday evening with the Messiah on Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. Separately before departure I had checked out events, paid and free at the South Bank, including at the National Theatre where Richard Griffiths and Frances Le Tour were starring with Adrian Scarborough and Alex Jennings in the Habit of Art, a play about Benjamin Britain meeting with WH Auden. There were other possibilities all depending on whether I was to be on my own or not. I also wanted to visit the British Music experience since World War 2 at the Millennium Dome where the ATP tennis tourney was taking place with semi finals days on tournament Friday and Saturday and where interest would depend on the progress of Any Murray. Before going to bed I knew I would be on my own until the following evening and decided on Sophie Calle and Seraphine. I then found it difficult to sleep.

I had been up at 5.am in order to try and get cheap Travel Lodge accommodation for the cricket next April and May and had been amazingly successful getting 12 nights in all for £102. This included five nights at Nottingham and three in Leeds and then four in London after discovering that there was a relay of La Boheme from Covent Garden. Having booked the accommodation I then found there was no relay at the Odeon Covent Garden which on further thought was logical in that why would people pay several hundred pounds to watch the opera in the Theatre if for under £10 they could see the same show at the cinema a few yards away. I was to learn the following day that it was not being shown at the Curzon’s although Carmen from La Scalla and It Travatore from Barcelona were. Then I had a moment of good fortune with was to herald the rest of the weekend. There was a relay showing at the Odeon Wimbledon. I have been to the Odeon once when staying at the former home of my birth and care mothers. I am staying where I am staying now in central Croydon and a short distance away outside East Croydon Station there are trams to Wimbledon. I booked a ticket and according to the seating plan was the first person to do so.

I had gone to bed around eleven pm on the Wednesday night, between two and three hours earlier than usual. I had not managed to sleep or so it seemed the following morning. I had risen for an hour between 2 and 3am for a milk drink but this did not seem to work. I had tried to count chicken. I have no recollection of any sleep or waking dreams. On Thursday evening I was too excited about the following day to sleep. Usually what happens is an anticlimax. This occasion it will remain not just a day remembered but perhaps the eight day in a decade which had significantly changed the rest of my self aware experience, and in this instance for the better.

1836 From Seraphine to Sophie Calle

In the history of human kind, let alone the universe, it is a very short road from the village of Arsy and the town of Senlis on the Oise in northern France where Seraphine Louis was born in 1864, to the birth place of Sophie Calle in 1953, a couple of years before I left school and had visited the local reference library to read the official War Crimes reports on the concentration camps at Bergen-Belsen and Auschwitz. Interestingly for someone who is precise and expansive I can find no published record of where Calle she was born.

(On a visit to the Science Museum a couple of days later I was also struck in the area on energy with the information that the sun will lose its power to sustain life on earth in about five billion years which is nearly as long as it appears to have already been in existence).

Seraphine Louis was the daughter of a manual working family who was sent to the local convent to undertake laundry work at the age of 17 after being a shepherdess and which is likely to account for her need to be outdoors and of trees which she loved to touch and talk to. From her work at the Convent of the Sisters of Providence in Clermont she developed the kind of fundamental Catholicism and adoration for the Virgin Mary which so dominated the life of my mother, to the extent that despite the totality of my mother’s senility and disabilities when she approached her death aged 100.75, her catholic faith remained evident to me as it did to her priest.

When Seraphine was 37 she commenced work for middle class families in the city of Senlis although according to the Film of her life which opened in the UK on the Friday afternoon of the day I also visited Sophie Calle at the Whitechapel. It was a further decade before Seraphine undertook cleaning for the garden flat tenant of one of these families, and one tenant by amazing good fortune was the Parisian art gallery dealer owner and collector Wilhelm Uhde, a German born pacifist Jewish homosexual born in what is now Poland, facts which were to have a great impact on the future of Seraphine

It is not known from the film when and why she commenced to paint her distinctive individual style of paintings which all have a tree like symmetry of floral displays in the most vivid and at times lurid of colours and which the films indicates she produced herself from pots of basic white using animal blood from the butchers for her red and algae from the river bed although these are guesses because she never revealed how she did it.

In the film one of her employers learns that Seraphine painted and asked to see a canvass which she then ridiculed because of its primitivism and abstraction. However the employer kept the work which was seen after the woman discovered that the tenant was the art expert and arranged a dinner party at which the local cultural worthies displayed their ignorance and contempt for the contemporary art of the day. The film suggests that it was only at this point did Wilhelm discover that his cleaner was the painter. According the Wikipedia he then became aware she had accumulated a body of work although in the film she only showed him a few of her small works painted on board and he urged her to work hard at improving her technique as well as being impressed by what she had created to-date. He bought her work and provide the support which commenced to lift her horizons as a mature single woman who had used all her earnings to buy materials to paint which she did at night by candlelight. The film also suggests that she was generally regarded as being “soft in the head” by her employers and the community in which she lived because she was on her own, appeared to have not family or friends apart from occasional visits to see the nuns and her devotions at the local church and spent hours in the countryside in all weathers, touching and talking to trees. The film states that she painted having been called by God to do so. She possessed the compulsion to do something regardless of whether she obtained recognition and wealth and did so at the expense of everything else other than working to buy materials. If her enthusiasm had been for alcohol, drugs or what have she would be said to have become addicted in a negative way and

Unfortunately just when she had found someone who believed in her work, the first World War occurred and Wilhelm had to flee from Senlis where understandably he was no longer welcome as the German army advanced, and where he would have been shot by the Germans if they had found him continuing to live there. The film suggests that Seraphine retrieved her work from the flat as well as rescuing his diary. He promised to return to see her but it was not until 1927 when Wilhelm returned to France and was living at Chantilly that he went back to find her. It is not clear to me if he could have returned to France before he did given his views and interests.

In the film it is stated that he assumed she had died until seeing a newspaper note of an exhibition of local artists and decided to see if any of her works were being shown and only then realised she and her painting had not only survived but progressed.

Wilhelm trained as lawyer and studied art history in Italy and was an early collector of the works of Picasso who painted his portrait in 1909. It was his patronage that made Henri Rousseau and in 1928 he showed the work of Seraphine in Paris along with that of Rousseau, Boucant and Camille Bombois who together became known as the Sacred Heart painters.

It was the juxtaposition of Seraphine the naive Catholic primitive and me, Colin the naive, former Catholic, primitive contemporary creative and Sophie Calle the now worldly exhibitionist and voyeur which has and such a profound effect as did the interaction between the work of many of those exhibiting in the Saatchi 100 and the Tate Modern in the Spring of 2003 when I knew not just what I wanted to do but how to do it.

The impact of the patronage on life of Seraphine was also profound in two contrasting ways. She commenced to paint large work on canvass two metres high and with access to the whole range of prepared paints was able to progress her work with paintings which overwhelm the senses and which will no doubt be shown once more in London following the release of the film there, a film which has already won seven awards at the French Academy including best picture and can be expected to do well as the foreign language Oscar film next year as well as the Baftas.

In the film Seraphine also moved into a bigger flat which she filled with pots and pans and silverware and then bought an expensive hand made formal white wedding dress which the film does not attempt to explain leaving the audience to decide if this was for wearing at her exhibition of work in Paris, or a symbolic dedication to the Virgin Mary and God, (non Catholics may not be aware that Nuns dress in bridal white when they enter an order following on from their white dresses at the first Holy Communion)

It is at this point that the role of Wilhelm becomes questionable at best and in my view disgraceful. When her neighbours become concerned about her going about the town in her wedding dress and distributing her silverware, they lock her up as mad and there was no one immediately on hand to speak for her. I was reminded that humanity throughout the ages, especially the established and ruling religions, have always persecuted those regarded as different and tried to silence, often killing those who challenge the existing order and way of doing things

In the film her psychosis progress to the extent she fails to recognise Wilhelm who funds the provision of a private room with access to the open air and countryside. In fairness to him he also was badly affected by the Wall Street Crash and could not keep up with her extravagance including the desire to buy a house like his and a car. However what is not clear if any effort was made to provide her with the material to paint and why did he tell everyone that she had died in 1934 when in fact she lived on until 1942. It is appreciated that as the control and suppression of the Jews became known, even if knowledge of their extermination was more restricted to officialdom and to the military throughout Europe, Wilhelm had to go into hiding in Southern France dying in 1947 back in Paris. Why on return and discovering that she been buried in a common grave did he not provide a new one for example? He had continued to show her work when in the asylum in an exhibition in 1932 and after stating she had died with exhibitions in Paris 37-38, followed by Zurich and New York, also in 1942 and in 1945 after she had died in a show of only her work. I was left feeling that that as her talent for painting grew she was abandoned by all those who could have helped her. I do take into account the barbarism of the care of the mentally ill which has stained medical practical for generations.

I rounded off my day by Eating spicy chicken wings in a quiet corner of St Pancras station after buying them from M and S, and as I was leaving noted two young men tucking into one of their large trifle bowls with similar enthusiasm to my devouring of the chicken. I had intended to call in at an attractive Christmas decorated Inn discovered on the way to the Brunswick centre but on exiting found it heaving. An Irish chain pub nearby was also packed out by early Friday evening revellers. I had not been to the Curzon Renoir at the Brunswick centre before and which appears to be an excellent venue for quality International films. They have a collection of DVD’s of previous successes which can also be obtained through their catalogue. I enjoyed a coffee before the performance but had to complain that the theatre had been placed in total darkness,

Saturday did not begin well as I quickly discovered that the Cross Thames line between London Bridge and St Pancras was down with the Circle and District Line and most of the Jubilee, Northern Kline Trains were not stopping at Kings Cross as individual stations such as Warren street were closed. There was chaos. The first port of call was St Martin’s in the Fields, the most famous non Cathedral church in the UK because of its location to one side of Trafalgar Square. It is technically the parish church of the Royal Family. It is also known for its open door policy towards the homeless following the work of Rev Dick Shepherd who pioneered charitable work in the first part of the last century Between 2006 and 2008 £36 million was spent on cleaning the building and creating new public facilities and parish and social care facilities which included a row of buildings to the north of the church. The large Crypt is now a restaurant cafe where jazz concerts are held and the church holds several concerts a week during lunchtimes and at night using candle light. It is also the London Brass rubbing centre. My interest was to enquire if tickets were available for the evening concert of Baroque music and they were, before walking across the bridge and along the South Bank of the Thames to Tate Modern.

This was my first visit this year. And as with my visit to the Saatchi in the summer for the USA show, it was a disappointment with nothing creating a new sense of wow. Most of the film space had warnings about nudity which appears to have become an issue although it is not surprising as the Tate appears to be a place for Tourists to visit and for curious parents to take their children along with them. I was struck by the difference between the two sets of visitors to the Tate Modern and the Whitechapel.

There was one work in which I did engage, by Robert Therrien from Los Angeles in which he had crammed into a small space, said to be the space he had used in his studio, some 888 objects all in red many practical, radio telephone, grill and that many of the objects had a significance in relation to his own past or that of his friends. It was this aspect which attracted my interest because too often the creative is seeking to cause an effect, to attract attention and the work has little to do, if anything with the life led or personal past experience. The redness was also commanding. I am not dismissing the rest of the displays which included several appreciated on past visits, but there was little I would want to live with or had direct significance to my own past experience or current work.

I enjoyed a sandwich and tea overlooking St Paul’s but came over tired and spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in a comfy chair at the Royal Festival Hall until it was time to brave the heavy rain in search of somewhere to eat. The crypt of St Martins was an obvious option but there was only limited choice of mass produced food kept warm. An exploration further along St Martin’s Lane led to La Roche a Lebanese Moroccan restaurant where a two course meal with wine will set you back £25 a head. However it was well worth it as I enjoyed some beautifully tender lamb with petite vegetables in a spiced sauce cooked in a colourful topped ceramic earthenware pot accompanied with rice and followed a delicious apple strudel. The wine was an unspecified house red.

St Martins is not an ideal place for music in that only those at the aisle or in the front rows can see the musicians and the seats are church pews although there was plenty of room for a bag underneath and for coats to be folded on the wide ledge used for hymnals. Yet it seemed ideal for the programme of Baroque music. Some of the work was familiar notably the Air on a G String of Bach and 4th Brandenburg Concerto when I have a double Long Play of the series and there was also Spring from the Vivaldi Four Seasons. I did not know the Telemann Recorder Concerto performed Martin Feinstein or the Pachelbel Canon and Fugue, Vivaldi’s Concerto for four Violins or his Spranino Concerto, but for me the I enjoyed most the Bach Double Violin Concerto with soloists Catherine Manson and Marianna Szcucs.

It is decades since visiting the Science Museum which since the films about Dinosaurs has been overshadowed by the adjacent Natural History Museum. I had been to the Victoria and Albert across the street earlier in the year and had been tempted to go again. Many of the displays are long standing especially the history of Flight and of Maritime developments. I am likely to have viewed the flying bomb rocket before but it still brought back the fear of childhood. The history of medicine has never appealed but 100 years of psychology usually would have but not at that moment. There was tremendous public interest in everything to do with space and the development of energy sources. I was delighted to see an Olivetti Lettera 22 typewriter which I tried to sell in the late 1950’s. I cannot remember what happened to the one which I bought for myself as later I acquired a black Silverite in a black case. There was also one of the early adding machines with the fading paper print roll. What interested me most was the early nature of many of fields of research and study which then changed all our lives. I noted that when men played around with electricity servants and children were treated with small shocks because it was though this would help to keep them in their place.

There has been thought given to attracting and keeping the interest of young people to science and everything is geared to provide young people with interest and well as facilities. There is a special large area for parties and refectory type tables on the ground floor cafe restaurant as well as those for two or four, and the food looked well prepared and appetizing. There was also a picnic area and one large area given over to hands on experiments and tests where children were having a great time. At the area of flight there was a conducted tour aimed at young children who were engaged throughout in various ways.

The closures of the Tube meant that everyone appeared to be queuing for the only direct bus route at Victoria, the C1. While people did get out at the V and A marked stop and then at the South Kensington Station where there is a tunnel to the Natural History and Science Museums and which used by those going or coming from the Royal Albert Hall at the top of the Road. As the bus goes to Sloane Square and Harrods at Knightsbridge it was full of shoppers as well as some going on to Earls Court Olympia where there are a number of halls as well as the conference centre, and where throughout the year there are trade and consumer shows, sporting events from the Horse of the Year to chess championships and music such as the Annual Brit Awards. I would be taken as a school child with the aunties to see the Ideal Home Exhibition each year where I enjoyed going through the show houses filled with the latest appliances and gadgets, watching the free displays of things to make life easier and the free samples.

It became time for a Sunday lunch and having just missed the C1 back as more rain came down disregarded by the dozens of skaters in the open air ice rink close to the station, I opted to take a bus to Marble Arch at the edge of Hyde Park where there was both another Ice rink, one of six in and around London and a monster large wheel, cross over the space where there are no memorials to the Australians who died in the World Wars and then take the bus to Victoria from there down the back of Buckingham Palace and passed the former officers of the National Coal Board to Victoria Station where there were was a pub restaurant one end of the food court. It was here that on the spur I crossed over to the far side and discovered that the Cafe Rouge are having an excellent two or three course reasonable priced meal which despite small portions is nevertheless excellent value given the quality of the food and the pleasant ambience where there is no pressure to serve everyone as fast as possible to attract further customers. I had a terrine de poulet with four pieces of baguette, a crepe filled with vegetables and a green salad rather than French fries, followed by a mousse aux chocolat and accompanied with a large glass of Merlot followed by black coffee £15. The new Cafe Rouge at Gateshead has the same menu for servings from 12 until 5 and there are vouchers for 2 main menu dishes for £12.50 in the evenings and I received a 50% off mail meal voucher the former expires in December while the latter is for the New Year. The meal made up for the dreadful weather and it also became cold to freezing.

However on return I discovered how the chain is able to provide quality food at low prices. Until October it was paying staff below the national minimum wage and using the tips to make the difference. Now it is required to pay the way and for tips to be distributed. Staff are asked to put the tips on the bill and then a 10% deduction is made by the management for administrative costs. This will affect my going again but I will test out the one at the Metro centre especially if it starts to show the relays of opera and other live performances when it opens in a few days time.