After a 41 degree day yesterday, and reports of over 80 fires raging in New South Wales alone, i realised that summer has come a little early. Summer evokes lots of memories for me, not least of all one of my favourite Australian painters: Russel Drysdale.
Like most great art, you have to see his works face to face. They glow. I went to the Art Gallery of New South Wales recently, and it's incredible how they seem to just hover on the walls, emitting an almost ethereal, other worldly radiance. The surrealists no doubt had an influence on his work, it sharing the same sense of stark desolation that you often see in the canvases of people like De Chirico and Dali, yet for all his surrealistic musings, I think of him more as the Australian equivalent to Edward Hopper; stark and beautiful paintings, that tell stories that are utterly unique to their place.
It's a pity that talking about classical music when you're young can lead to your dismisal as an elitist... I think it's because of this stigma that fewer people of the younger generations listen to classical, because really it's extremely accessible music. It is something i am finding out more and more frequently as i dig deeper into the genre, this often celestial, transcendental and completely spiritual art form.
In film and television classical music is everywhere, sometimes so subtle it's almost subliminal, sometimes so intense it speeds your heart to 160 bpm, the ominious opening bars of Flight of the Valkyries in Apoclaypse Now, the resonant doom of Beethoven's 9th in A Clockwork Orange...these are two of the most powerful pieces of music that will ever be created. However classical need not be so loud nor intense to be as powerful - take for instance the heart aching plantiveness of Chopin's Nocturnes, or the eerieness yet suspense of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonatas.
These pieces are immortal and yet ephemeral. They have their own souls as they dance through the air until it comes time for them to fade away, you are unsure of whether what you heard was in fact real or an illusion. No other music effects mood like classical does.
The four pieces I mentioned were of course some of the most popular works ever written, and i'm sure that people of all ages would be at least somewhat familiar with them. Yet why is it that despite being such a pervasive art form it so often goes unmentioned? Whilst any number of trite and mundaine bands are being talked about and utterly devoured, classical music is rarely talked about, despite it's popularity in film.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent,— A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent.
I saw a great documentary online the other day about Picasso, and one work in particular, Guernica. Until I saw this documentary I didn't understand just what that painting meant - I suppose it pays to pay attention in class. It was a government commissioned work, and I suppose what is most interesting about it is that Picasso really pushed himself into another place when he painted it, he started to take the piss after a while with his work. The work acts as both a revelation and a prophecy. The Spanish Civil War was to only get worse when this was painted. By the end of the war everyone in Spain knew this work.
Another fascinting man is Henry Miller. Life affiriming i would say. Born in Brooklyn, he was known as "the Brooklyn Boy", a raging, mad, insatiable man, with a thirst for knowledge and of life. He wrote several of my favourite books, my favourite is Tropic of Capricorn - It has all the madness as usual, but still keeps his feet on the ground to some degree, for half of it anyway. Like all great artists, old Henry was misunderstood, though he certainly wanted to be. If you want to know more about the man, read his books, and listen to his interviews, like the one below.
A year ago I thought that I was an artist, I no longer think about it, I am.
And now for a poem by William Blake. I've had lines of this poem stuck in my head for the last month. He is an amazing man, I don't know where to begin talking about him, so i'll say no more. THE HUMAN ABSTRACT
Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor, And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we.
And mutual fear brings Peace, Till the selfish loves increase Then Cruelty knits a snare, And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with his holy fears, And waters the ground with tears; Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head, And the caterpillar and fly Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat, And the raven his nest has made In its thickest shade.
The gods of the earth and sea Sought through nature to find this tree, But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the human Brain
After some time out of mind i have decided to get back on the ol horse, it's no longer strictly for that video art project, not that it ever really was...
Lately i have been looking into Greek Mythology. It really is a limitless source of inspiration. One of my favourite myths is that of THE NINE MUSES. To quote somewhere: At one time, the goddesses of inspiring springs, the nine Muses became the representatives of poetry, the arts and science : Calliope, Muse of epic song, Clio, Muse of history, Euterpe, Muse of lyric song, Thalia, Muse of comedy and bucolic poetry, Melpomene, Muse of tragedy, Terpsichore, Muse of dance, Erato, Muse of erotic poetry, Polyhymnia, Muse of sacred song, and Urania, Muse of astronomy.
Now as the rumours go, Zeus slept with the Goddess (or Titan) of memory Mnemosyne nine nights in a row, and by doing so spawned each muse - which is really a stellar effort by both parties, though you especially have to feel for Mnemosyne the poor girl. A lot of myths revolve around both Mnemosyne and the Muses and there has been a lot of great art and poetry based upon them.
The Dance of Apollo and the Muses - Baldassare Peruzzi
From Hesiod -Theogony: From the Heliconian Muses let us begin to sing who hold the great and holy mount of Helicon, and dance on soft feet about the deep-blue spring and the altar of the almighty son of Cronos,
and, whenthey have washed their tender bodies in Permessus, or in the Horse’s Spring of Olmeius, make their fair,lovely dances upon highest Helicon and move with vigorous feet.
WHERE DO WE COME FROM? WHAT ARE WE? WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Just thought i would post a picture of one of my favourite paintings, the name of which has been spinning through my head for the last few weeks, it's like a taunt, once you hear it you never forget it. Gauguin had been a student at the Petit Seminaire de La Chapelle Saint Mesmin, just outside of Orleans from the age of eleven to the age of sixteen. His subjects there included a class in Catholic liturgy; the teacher for this class was the Bishop of OrleansFelix Antoine Philibert Dupanloup. Dupanloup had devised his own catechism to be lodged in the minds of the young schoolboys, and to lead them towards proper spiritual reflections on the nature of life. The three fundamental questions in this catechism were: "Where does humanity come from?" "Where is it going to?", "How does humanity proceed?"
PLAYING THE BUILDING this is pretty rad, i was reminded of it today, it's a pretty interesting concept, David Byrne is one of those guys that just seem to get more creative with age.
These are from a man from the 19th century called Etienne-Jules Marey. He was one of the pioneers of Chronophotography:
Chronophotography is a Victorian application of science (the study of movement, and art photography). It is the technique precursor to cinematography.The word is from the Greek 'chronos' and photography, "pictures of time."Chronophotography is divided into two separate processes: Motography (continuous exposure of the subject) and Strobophotography (intermittent exposure of the subject).
People like Duchamp took it up later on, and as you can see, his 'nude descending a staircase' was a reference to this type of photography. The image below is by someone called Eadweard Muybridge, who was a pioneer of using multiple cameras to capture an image during the 19th century,
he also did horses, and proved that galloping horses for a time always had four legs on the ground.
I have been reading up about dada film, here is a quote from the internet: Dada-related films have several characteristics in common: they disrupt viewer expectations of a conventional narrative, use cinematic defamiliarization of social realityto undermine the norms and code of social convention, and are constantly pointing to the film apparatus as an illusion-producing machine. The difference between Dada and Surrealist films lies in their different strategies of defamiliarizing social reality. Surrealist filmmakers largely rely on conventional cinematography as a means to draw the viewer into the reality produced by the film. However, Dada films work to keep the viewer at a distance, which accounts for the viewer not being deeply disturbed by the film.
La Coquille Et Le Clergyman with music by Swans
the screenplay is by Antonin Artaud
Also David Lynch has done some pretty amazing short films, one of my favourite being The Grandmother, a film where a kid who has a hard time from his parents grows himself a grandmother.
there is also this byMarcelDuchamp, displaying his foray in ANEMIC CINEMA
(an extract) I struggle on the anger the happiness admitted day for day and tooth for tooth here's the hour that stirs night strikes these are the clogs of those who set out to sea to batter the waves with the weight of their bodies with their fists with all their faith in life upset the depthless drawers their truth has no price it's the open laughter it urges on the daring of the world it causes the mountains of light torn from the seaweed's evasive kisses to climb to the light it's the armed song on the fringes of light there is only one man to hear at the height of the brawl tender cry of the babe-in-arms the future to cry still louder and the flashing waves pile up the mounting clarities surrounded by a thousand promised languages joy i could foretell you reinvent your dazzle until your image on earth was hidden from me under the dregs of grimaces the stinking rags of death
I struggle on i've seen lost eyes the war beseeching eyes turned away from the war wide-eyed the war cowardly eyes low ignoble eyes the eyes of little girl lovers and mothers but don't talk anymore of mothers' eyes their brightness has forever fulled the brightness of ours they've watched wall of silence for the fishermen's return their foreheads pressed to the window-panes the storm burst out at sea a champagne cork lightning fastener the lighting all along the body of a naked woman standing on the edge of the horizon the champagne gushes out it's a festival free for all the bass drum setting the world afloat jump who can turn turn each one the storm around you there are all kinds of people one's broken the bank another's dandled the little girly on his knee the little dancer you know the little girly the grand life at last the grand the grandest is so obvious while one by one the ships fall on their knees it's better than at the slaughter house bodies tossed about like flies arms torn off endless tears coffins faces without noses i don't know what without mouths without ears put that back in order for me and get on with it at your command general deaths in shreds deaths for nothing comic deaths easy deaths why haven't they waited for the grand dance that's coming here hardly noticeable button warfare closures lighnight neon warfare hesitation waltz death by laughing forward the music dead people in lace mangled packed liquified tossed on the rubbish-heap what does the fitting song matter love song sad song life song at your command general there's no possible song left love tossed in the dust bin suppression of sorrows cure by the release of closures lightning you don't have to say it it's a frenzied dance block-head i ask you it's the expressive waltz block-head devil's brass foundry hag-head you want to laugh automatic release whore-head billiard-head headline pig-head king-head mule-head the war above our heads what the war who's being fooled i struggle on i've seen the horror engraved right on the retinas of those who by wanting to survive have died a thousand times at the back of their eyes friends the bottom of a sea shows all the memories bottom of grief the dreams flow round there green cavalcades with long strands of seaweed deep is the breath of the wind between the rocks and long long the history of tortures i struggle on the night is long the story for the rest of us soon reaches it's end will we have stopped believing in grief we must take life as it is again face to face good and evil always as a comrade shaking it from head to toe or talking to it gently according to what it says according to what it thinks take it round the waist shake it like a plum tree and perhaps we will have to fight so that some life is left us comrades that each one finds his share filled with dreams sown with childhoods the first clarity common to all and which has no name
the corn is till not ripe stalks paler than thistles in the autumn wind
the vineyard still lies fallow man has laid his greatness at the foot of the abyss
the sun prepares peaceful fellings the forests will pale with an explosive thirst for greenery
where are you newborn youth the crimson flowers of youth on your delicate cheeks
like the seagull's lost cry I've lost you the wind that night
it's true i struggle on but in each laughing face appears apple of my eye my love the present and future love the weight of the world Translated by Lee Harwood
Thought i should elaborate on Billy Childish. He has been a great inspiration for me over the past few years, until i discovered his art i considered myself quite lost, i didn't understand why people would pay the sort of outrageous prices they do for art. Here is a quote from Robert Hughes from a conversation he had last year, where he is talking about the young generation coming into this cultural market, and how he would have reacted:
...I would have shied away from it, i would have found it alienating, people who know nothing about art, running around paying ridiculous prices for undesirable things. Being part of this next generation that he talks about, it is funny to hear such a scathing quote from such an esteemed voice in the art world.
And it is exactly what he is talking about that really put me off art, and it put me off wanting to study art, especially at cofa - it is such a fucking money grubbing shit hole in lots of ways, but it can't be blamed directly, it is happening everywhere. To come across Billy Childish was quite a relief in lots of ways. I learned that what i was doing made sense to other people too, and that although it's quite shocking, the majority of people involved in art these days are misguided delusional wankers with no souls - well, those involved with art that makes money. Not that i think there has to be a romance of the impoverished artist painting for their bread, but their does have to be the romance of an artist painting because they need to do it, not for money, but to satisfy their SOUL.
So here is another clip of the man from an exerpt of the film Billy Childish is Dead, which was released a couple of years ago. Aswell as a link to a recent article on him, which i like as it recognises him as a man to be taken seriously, unsurprisingly lots of people don't take him all that seriously, because he sees through their meaningless and shallow conceits - and they know it. Oh,and that moustache is just a thing of beauty.
Tristan Tzara was one of the main men of the dada movement. I think there is a lot of truth in the DADA movement, i think that it strikes a chord in the core of humanity, that inherent absurdity i was getting at earlier. There are elements of this approach which i am sure were studied by future playwrites like Samuel Beckettand Tom Stoppard, people that thrived off that humour. It's kind of sad how boring the way that DADA art is taught, often its humour is forgotten. I guess it was never really a suited to analysis or teaching, it's more in the action and the act.
Antonin Artaud is another very interesting figure, he was part of the surrealist movement for a while, completely drug fucked most of the time, addicted to heroin and opiates, also naturally inclined to "depression" . What i find most interesting about Artaud was his view towards reality, which naturally influenced everything he did thereafter. to quote his wikipedia page: Imagination, to Artaud, was reality; he considered dreams, thoughts and delusions as no less real than the "outside" world. To him, reality appeared to be a consensus, the same consensus the audience accepts when they enter a theatre to see a play and, for a time, pretend that what they are seeing is real. Tom Waitsliked him, if that means anything...i think it does. he is as much a performer as he is a musician - which is really saying something. I really like Waits's aesthetic approach too, he's a pretty awesome dude.
I think a lot of what i consider to be good art always deals with one's approach towards reality, in an emotive sense as well as physical, i think it's for this reason that a lot of conceptual art sort of goes over my head, i don't mean that i don't get it, I just don't see the point of it. So that is something that i want to avoid in my work - too much conceptual thought, which might sound ironic, but there is a difference between knowing that you're thinking and thinking that you're knowing.
