Sail Bridge Music Action : 2009 : Paul Granjon : When is a bridge not a bridge? When Paul decides it has something of a giant harp about it and, with the help of Swansea Dance Group Dynion performs a number on it making it, probably, the largest musical instrument in the world. Meaning can be gained by an understanding of the compromise between two contradictory statements regarding the same event. As the twang on a sitar string results from the tension of a wire strung between two opposing points so to can the truth be approached as the peculiar resonance as witness or experience is stretched between two opposing points of view. The bridge as bridge gains from the the additional meaning as bridge as musical instrument and our understanding of it, and therefore the place it has for us, is enhanced by this particular intervention. This is the value of art and, as the sail is re-presented as harp and the performance comes to a close our minds are alive with other possibilities of mischievous and artistic mis-use. Or they would be if we had the imagination. I loved this piece and I hope the pictures capture some of the energy of this re-presentation of Swansea's sail bridge. I know it's axiomatic to say that there's an important distinction between representation and re-presentation but here's a concrete example of the power of re-presenting rather than representing an object. Beautiful.
Ship Shape: 2009 This is the work of
Megan Broadmeadow and borrows beautifully from Edward Lear's poem of the green headed, blue handed Jumblies, who went to sea in a Sieve. Okay, there's no one actually in the shoe but the implication's there. We all love the outlandish & wildly optimistic behaviour of the Jumblies and, amongst other things Megan's shoe was an open invitation to participate, Jumblie style in a fantasy adventure. There are other links too, to Old Mother Hubbard and to Joyce Dunbar's 'Shoe Baby' and more recently I remember reading about a pair of Burmese fishermen who survived a 25 day ordeal in a 5' by 4' ice box amidst shark infested waters. This is probably a step too close to reality for most of us but it reinforces the notion and the opportunities offered by Megan's shoe, if only in our Jumblie style dreams. For what it's worth, I liked it,
as shoe, as I like a lot of work transposed and transformed by seemingly innocuous means. This tranformation, by scale, speaks as eloquently to the beauty of form as a 1000 real shoes and I'd have loved to have seen more of them, scattered simultaneously around Swansea. A giant lost shoe, for instance, discarded sideways on the Kingsway, or Wind Street, testament to the hugeness of the vast bank of lost & mentally abandoned nights out on the town. And while we're at it how about a giant glove too? Abandoned somewhere on Kilvey Hill, a memorial to all those lost and lonely gloves we see after a spell of bad weather, mourned only by their owner and, presumably, their erstwhile partner. Or how about a location on the very tip of the hill, by the communications tower? A giant dropped glove, helpfully impaled on a giant post, waving thanks in reply to all those digital morsecode like heartbeats beaming in so thanklessly to Kilvey. And of course it goes without saying that, out of respect to the Jumblies, this giant glove should be blue.
And this is the work of performance artists
Neil Bromwich & Zoe Walker: Seige Weapons of Love: 2007 and -assuming of course that the love cannon could be read as both a conventional and a human cannon- another piece commenting on the surprises offered by a change in scale. This was the opening piece for Locws International's 2007 show 'Art across the City' and was based at the Guildhall. Accompanied by a small orchestra, participants were encouraged to load, and -after a bit of huffing and puffing aided by a petrol driven leaf blower- launch helium balloons from a large pink gun. The work also included the siege weapons of love themselves, plasticine models of guns and the tools of war mutating into objects of beauty. Alongside this metaphorical spiking of rifle barrels with flowers was the raising of a flag on the Guildhall's flagpole. The first flag to have been flown there for 25 years. I was initially surprised as to the trainspotty importance attached to this lapse of flag flying in the -what I see as- sometimes
daydreamy world of high art but was to be firmly put in my place. A very local resident bustled over to us during a practice session that I was photographing to enquire, breathlessly, 'Do you know, that's the first flag to be flown here for 25 years?'
Touche. It just goes to show.
And, incidently, on the day, the flag flew beautifully with just the right amount of unfurling wind.
Peter Finnemore. 2000 Shed; The Passion No. 1 at The Dylan Thomas Centre. I've always enjoyed Peter's work. It's often witty, always thought provoking and generally gentle or even kind. This work was no exception and, unusually for Peter's work, included himself as 'shed man'. The shed was inside the centre & Peter was in the shed itself, holding the golden ball of thread in the photo below. A beautifully whimsical metaphor of magical potential illustrating the universal symbolic appeal of the shed's connection with inspiration and creativity.
Rhona Byrne: Learning to fly over Swansea 2007 at St. Mary’s Church. All of Locws' work is site specific inasmuch as the artists are asked to respond to some aspect of the city. Rhona took this invitation more literally than most and learned to fly at Swansea airport before going on to fly over the City, film it, and then to show the film behind the altar at St Mary's Church. As an organisation Locws always impresses me by the way it's able to gain the access and permissions neccessary to show something as seemingly outlandish as a flying machine in the house of God. I'm not saying that I think there's neccessarily anything ungodly about flying, after all, the Angels themselves set a bit of a precedent regarding this, & nor indeed, would I say that there's any precedent for peacefulness regarding the outbreaks of Christianity over the last 2000 years. But I think there's certainly something
unchurchy about aeroplanes in church. Or certainly something incongruous about the idea of a flying machine in an institution that takes refuge, by and large, in the archaic language of the 17th Century. The work itself of course is all the stronger for this seeming incongruity, and speaks volumes of the dissconnect currantly discernable between a ghostly god of nonmaterialism and mammon. And this in turn speaks volumes regarding the cleverness of the location of the work as well as the wisdom, in my opinion, of the permission from St Mary's that made it possible. The fact that the church itself was extensively damaged during the Blitz, by the Luftwaffe's own machines, adds to this poignancy, and the view of the cross of the altar, becoming the cross hairs on a target in the third photo, speaks on many levels.
Brigitte Jurack. Junge mit Jack : The River Tawe Bridge : 2002 Jurack's work comments on the 'otherness' of times gone by and uses the oval shape of the top of the old Neath - Swansea rail bridge pillar as a reference for Swansea's youth's skateboarders in Castle Square. The work itself was beautifully executed and is possibly the most
crafted piece of work commisioned by Locws. That's not to say that the concept of the work itself isn't similaly considered. I believe it is; and also that the work was brilliantly referential, even
deferential to Swansea's industrial and industrous past. The figure itself can be read as thoughtful, wistful & even despairing - and was certainly read this way by those members of the public, who, mistaking art for life itself, phoned the police to report a would be suicide. This was a brave piece of work, and one that commands respect for the past. Swansea Council would do well to consider this approach as it pussyfoots around the pressing decision of what to do with the abutments of the old Slip Bridge.
Sara Rees This work,
Kairos, 2009 involved the construction and launch of a floating shelter and it's mooring in the heart of Swansea Marina. Kairos is one of the Greek words for 'time' and means either a period of time or the way in which time passes, the qualitative quality of time. It's been said that Sara's work is about the altered states of consciousness induced by trauma - and that these states - perhaps induced by significant loss- cast us into a different world. As a piece of work, Kairos can be seen as the world itself entering an altered state as the crisis of late-capitalism casts the planet itself into a different and apocalyptical world. The shiney yachts in the marina would become the ravaged shelters of the future and we were invited to take a glimpse into this world. Viewed at twilight there's a warmth about the floating structure due to the tungsten light installed and it becomes inviting as a shelter, and so too then, by implication, does the potential of apocalypse. Kairos presents the possibility that altered states of consciousness, induced by trama, may be a route to the sublime. Or put another way: that a post capitalist world may be desirable. Amen to that. I've always thought those sleekily shiney yachts in Swansea - judged recently by think tank
Centre for Cities as one of the 5 most economically vulnerable cities in Britain- a bit too sneaky & ostentatious. It's good to see an artist challenging the assumptions of excessive wealth and asking the obvious question in eloquent fashion:
What times are these?
Niamh McCann's mural painted on the intriguing back of the Dylan Thomas Theatre has the fantastic title
'Flock Of Ospreys Looking For The Old Blind Sea Captain Who Dreams Of His Deceased Sea Fellows Under A Visiting African Sun'. It's an ambitious piece. The Ospreys replace the seagulls in James Harris' painting ‘Swansea Bay in Stormy Weather’ that the mural is in part based on and the African Sun (visible in the 4th shot as a single red disc) presumably references the voyages that Swansea's seafarers may have made.The work's a masterpiece of understatement in as much as it would be incomprehensible without reference to the title itself. I like that. The poetry of the title mixing with the simplicity of single colours celebrating Dylan's Theatre modernised by Ospreys. And the blindness of the Captain & de facto blindness of the radio audience of 'A Play for Voices' identifies with the blindness of the viewer of this work as they grope around the title searching for clues. Master, or perhaps
Mistressful. I think it's also true to say that it's one of only two pieces of work commissioned by Locws that has remained in place (the other is Bermingham & Robinson's glass works above the doors at the Brangwyn Hall). And rightly so. Locws has a genius for recognising potential and this magnificently quirky wall with it's beautiful concrete folds representing a theatre curtain is enhanced immeasurably by this intervention.
Jaan Toomik: 2007 This piece of work, making accessable the shadowy memories of Swansea's old council chamber, speaks volumes about the way we communicate. There were four short films: Dancing with Dad, Seagulls, Jaan and the piece that these photos are from,
Waterfall. 'Waterfall' is an incredible piece. A lone figure screams soundlessly against the back drop of a waterfall and as the camera zooms out to reveal a wider context the sound slowly becomes increasingly audible. But it's not the sound of the scream that we hear but the eventual roar of the waterfall itself. This work is about communication with benefits. It neatly counters the first lines of Ella Wilcox's poem Solitude:
Laugh and the world laughs with you; Weep and you weep alone. It reminded me of Diana's funeral and the very public out pouring of grief from, what seemed at the time, the whole of the UK. I remember thinking how much easier the loss for her sons must have been to bear knowing that the entire nation was effected. For less pivitol characters loss is a private and personal grief and the beauty of Jaan's piece Waterfall allows us to believe that we can be cradled, rather than buffetted by the world. It's like singing in a crowd at a football match. You're given this great big voice! Only here, in the a-synchronous unfamiliarity of the dark and bygone council chambers this amplified voice is the whole of your world and that of the environment around you.
Richard Higlet's' A song for Jack, 2008 is a celebration of local hero
Swansea Jack, the 1930's black retriever that, legend has it, rescued 27 people from drowning played on some dogs' ability to yodel in the way that wolves howl at the moon. The auditions were chaotic and rehearsals cacaphonous. But come the final concert the Dogs pulled it off, and, with accompaniment from local musicians there was a fine semblance of song. What surprised me most about the unlikely event was the dignity of the canine performers, visible in the photos below. Outstanding. And, given that in addition to rescuing 27 people Jack also saved 2 fellow canines, appropriate. There was pride too for the owners and the event was treated with fitting seriousness. Many of the dogs were finely dressed and as well as being a piece of performance art the end of the event had the feeling of the end of a party - or a funeral - in that some resolution - even canine
coming to terms with - had been reached for Jack. As Phoebe Hesketh's poem says:
The day of death is better than the day of one's birth. And the end of a party is better than the beginning. Quietness gathers the voices and laughter into one cup - we drink peace. And it really did seem, as we all went home, that we- the dogs and us I mean- had learnt something about the way we interact together, as well as about the bravery, and the universality of heroism.
Alice Maher. Mnemosyn. Swansea Museum. 2002. Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, created here in the form of a refrigerated bed. Beds are our refuge for love, birth, death and loneliness. Places perhaps for the making of memories. What wackier location then, for an evoker of a memory maker, than the Museum itself? The maker of memories, frozen in time & housed in the memory store.
Davide Bertocchi is a cerebal performer and his works appeal both to the head and the heart.
Once Upon a Time in the West: 2003 was an extravagant performance on Swansea beach outside County Hall referencing Guglielmo Marconi, surrealist painter Giorgio De Chirico, the 70's Spaghetti Western's and Swansea's Metal Detecting Club. Impressive. Marconi is generally credited with the invention of 'the radio' and it's his first transmission over the open sea -across the Bristol Channel- that this work principally explores. This was a complex performace and hinged on the detectors finding all the letters of this first transmission, the individual letters of the cryptic sentance 'Are you ready?' that had been buried in the beach the previous day. The soundtrack was Ennio Morricone's from 'Once upon a time in the West' and the giant inflatable Cacti provided the reference to de Chirac. It must surely rate as some of the most powerful scenes outside of shipwrecks Swansea beach has seen. And as such a fitting tribute to the invention of Radio itself, which was soon to be credited -and just for starters- with those whose lives were saved from the loss of the Titanic. So much for setting the scene then - how does it rate as art? I think this piece of work is seminal and beautifully simple. Why? Because it simply reverses the problem of wireless transmission & re-presents it in a way that enables us to understand the initial impasse. Such is the value of art. What was then about dematerialising the spoken word and sending it across the ether to rescramble it successfully is translated, via this piece of work as the message is literally scrambled and buried before being searched for, found, and rescrambled by the metal detecting brigade. And the the heroic backdrop of cacti and soundtrack emphasise this poetically. You have to admit: It's a pretty neat metaphor of the original problem of transmission & the joy that must have arisen from cracking the code.The value of art, in this case then is to explain and elucidate as well as to entertain. And for my money, with this piece of work, Davide has done this in spades. But that's not all, because the other thing about it was that as one of the photographers there I got to dress up in a white suit too, like the detectors, and was also seen as part of the art. Fantastic, or, as it was put in art-speak later: I became a metaphor of researcher.
It's been said that Art is the screaming pulse of humanity, trying to beat, & it's also been said, by Henry James in fact, one of the sanest of writers that:
We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. The rest is the madness of art.
Where do these interventions of Locws fit then on the spectrum between heartbeat and madness?
Locws has nailed it's colours to the interventionist mast, it's work is therefore a form of conceptual art and as such values the idea or
concept as more important than any aesthetic treatment of any materials involved.
Now this itself may rule out it's consideration by some; certainly anyone who expects the artist to create special kinds of material objects.
Anti-conceptual art sentiment abounds, the Stuckist movement memorably if simplistically criticised it on the grounds that '
Artists who don't paint aren't artists ' and whilst some of their tirade is probably tongue in cheek the sentiments expressed are widespread.
But art can't all be Rodin and Rembrandt, and conceptual art has two big hitters playing for it:
1. Ambiguity: We're not told what to think; as in a David Lynch film, there is only the basic outline of a plot; the conclusion is up to the viewer & so to with interventions: there is no 'right answer': meaning will depend on mood as well as the instinctive reaction we feel when confronted with a piece of artistic intervention. This hands a lot of responsibility back to the viewer or participant to apply themselves to the piece of work & this itself may not be what we initially expect.
2. Price: Conceptual art is free & rails against the commodification & capitalisation of art. It can require a different mental approach to appreciate a piece of work without the endorsement of a six figure price tag.
I like both of these two premises and think that in the context of the understanding of art they're important & linked as both factors mean that we have to think and respond for ourselves.
Broadmeadow's work as well as the work by Bromwich & Walker depends on transformation by scale for impact: A super size shoe or canon allow us a reality check on shoes and canons & allow a clean slate to appear for us to think anew about shoes and cannons and, by implication, anything else. The work by Jurack, Rees & to an extent Bertocchi require us to suspend our obsession with chronological time, and this too, is of obvious benefit. Rhona's work questions our assumptions of context and Higlett's piece with the dogs challenges our anthropomorphic assumptions regarding heroism and the collective memory. There are other straightforward assumptions that conceptual art can challenge apart from size, time, context & humanism and this has obvious and huge ramifications. Assumptions are the true dictators and it's good to see them challenged in an intelligent, poetic and sometimes beautiful way.
Sure: I agree that there are times, artistically, when we need Contstables as well as concepts but there can never be times when we can rely solely on romance. Neither in art or in life; or, indeed, the twilight zone inbetwixt.
Perhaps anyone who's read Tom Robbins' novel 'Skinny Legs and All' can sympathise with would be figurative artist Ellen Cherry as she sees her conceptul artist partners' star soar:
He tricked me, Ellen Cherry was thinking now. With art and sex, he tricked me into love.
And, albeit in parellel or maybe even in reverse, we can understand something of the work that Locws International is doing in Swansea: Because, by using concepts instead of craft, Locws has tricked Swansea into thinking about art.
I suggest Swansea has gained immeasurably from these transient interventions and the assumptions they may have caused us to reconsider.
The next Locws event will be opening on the 16th April 2011 and closing 15th May 2011. Open daily from 10-5pm. There will be an information hub with maps located in the National Waterfront Museum, Swansea with artworks sited in public areas around Swansea city centre.
