Sunday, November 30, 2008
Liberia: UN Tanks
4 years after the bloody civil war it was still not uncommon to see tanks rolling through the streets of Libera. There was a permenatly parked one in the city centre of Monrovia, the capital, draped in green camophlage. I am not sure who it was fooling other than someone in a flying craft.
When we visited the Firestone Rubber Plantation we were told they really destoy the roads which are paved very thinly on the cheap side. The tanks crack up the concrete.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Liberia: Dwellings
There were all sorts of dwellings that people lived in in Liberia.
Some lived on the river in shacks. I am not sure what happens in the rainy season when the river rises.
Some people squat in shells of buildings left over from before the 14-year civil war.
Some places don't look to bad at all.
This was very common to see in the country side. Housed made out of woven reeds. I imagine it is not that great in the rain.
Occasionally you would see a fancy villa from a distance.
Or a uninhabited structure that looked newly built.
These places in the country looked like nice surroundings, but no water, electricity or sewage.
Another newer looking development.
More thatched walls.
A bit windy in this one.
I think this one might double as a shop.
Some lived on the river in shacks. I am not sure what happens in the rainy season when the river rises.
Some people squat in shells of buildings left over from before the 14-year civil war.
Some places don't look to bad at all.
This was very common to see in the country side. Housed made out of woven reeds. I imagine it is not that great in the rain.
Occasionally you would see a fancy villa from a distance.
Or a uninhabited structure that looked newly built.
These places in the country looked like nice surroundings, but no water, electricity or sewage.
Another newer looking development.
More thatched walls.
A bit windy in this one.
I think this one might double as a shop.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Saatchi Gallery - The Revolution Continues: New Chinese Art
"He is the most voracious collector of contemporary art, the man who made a whole generation of Young British Artists rich and famous. Now, with an ambitious new website, a major show at the Royal Academy and a gallery opening in Chelsea, Charles Saatchi is back".
(Stuart Jeffries for The Guardian)
I visited the newly opened Saatchi Gallery in London to see the new Chinese Artists Exhibition. I realize that I like a lot of what Saatchi likes. I describe it as clean art in that it may dip into the current grunge feel, but never excessively.
Liu Wei, Love It! Bite It! 2005-2007, made from edible dog chews, dimensions variable
This piece was truly incredible to me. It was huge and made entirely from unrolled rawhide dog bones...you know the kind. I can see why it took 2 years to create.
Cang Xin, Communication, 2006, Silica gel, Length: 172 cm
This piece was fun. It looked as real a person in the gallery as it does in these photos. It is an identical likeness to the artist himself. A London friend told me she took her young son to the show and he lay down beside this one and kept licking the floor too.
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Angel (and 4 details), 2008, Life size sculpture in fibre-reinforced polymer and silica gel
Another amazing silicone creation lying haphazardly in the middle of the floor.
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Old Persons Home, 2007, 13 x life size sculptures and 13 x dynamo electric wheel chairs, Dimensions variable.
This one was great. There were at least 15 of these rolling slowly around the gallery bumping into things. You could walk amongst them.
Liu Wei, Love It! Bite It! 2005-2007, made from edible dog chews, dimensions variable
This piece was truly incredible to me. It was huge and made entirely from unrolled rawhide dog bones...you know the kind. I can see why it took 2 years to create.
Cang Xin, Communication, 2006, Silica gel, Length: 172 cm
This piece was fun. It looked as real a person in the gallery as it does in these photos. It is an identical likeness to the artist himself. A London friend told me she took her young son to the show and he lay down beside this one and kept licking the floor too.
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Angel (and 4 details), 2008, Life size sculpture in fibre-reinforced polymer and silica gel
Another amazing silicone creation lying haphazardly in the middle of the floor.
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Old Persons Home, 2007, 13 x life size sculptures and 13 x dynamo electric wheel chairs, Dimensions variable.
This one was great. There were at least 15 of these rolling slowly around the gallery bumping into things. You could walk amongst them. An excerpt from the Saatchi Gallery said:
"Sun Yuan and Peng Yu are two of China's most controversial artists, renown for working with extreme materials such as human fat tissue, live animals, and baby cadavers to deal with issues of perception, death, and the human condition. In Old Person's Home Sun & Peng present a shocking scene of an even more grotesque kind. Hilariously wicked, their satirical models of decrepit OAPS look suspiciously familiar to world leaders, long crippled and impotent, left to battle it out in true geriatric style. Placed in electric wheelchairs, the withered, toothless, senile, and drooling, are set on a collision course for harmless ‘skirmish' as they roll about the gallery at snail's pace, crashing into each other at random in a grizzly parody of the U.N.dead."
Li Qing, Wedding (There Are Six Differences In The Two Paintings), 2006, Oil on canvas 190 x 275 cm each panel.
It was great seeing the young girl and several other children excitedly trying to find the 6 differences in these two pieces. I only found 5 myself.
Zhang Dali, Chinese Offspring, 2003-2005, Mixed media: resin mixed with fibreglass, 15 life size cast figures, Average height 170 cm each.
According to the artist, immigrant workers who have traveled from the rural areas all over China to earn a living in construction sites in Chinese cities, are the most important members of the Chinese race, who are shaping our physical reality. Yet, they are the faceless crowd who live at the bottom of our society. To cast them in resin is a way to recognize their existence and contribution as well as to capture a fast-changing point of time in the Chinese society. From 2003 to 2005, Zhang has portrayed 100 immigrant workers in life-size resin sculptures of various postures, with a designated number, the artist's signature and the work's title “Chinese Offspring” tattooed onto each of their bodies. They are often hung upside down, indicating the uncertainty of their life and their powerlessness in changing their own fates.
Li Qing, Wedding (There Are Six Differences In The Two Paintings), 2006, Oil on canvas 190 x 275 cm each panel.
It was great seeing the young girl and several other children excitedly trying to find the 6 differences in these two pieces. I only found 5 myself.
Zhang Dali, Chinese Offspring, 2003-2005, Mixed media: resin mixed with fibreglass, 15 life size cast figures, Average height 170 cm each.
According to the artist, immigrant workers who have traveled from the rural areas all over China to earn a living in construction sites in Chinese cities, are the most important members of the Chinese race, who are shaping our physical reality. Yet, they are the faceless crowd who live at the bottom of our society. To cast them in resin is a way to recognize their existence and contribution as well as to capture a fast-changing point of time in the Chinese society. From 2003 to 2005, Zhang has portrayed 100 immigrant workers in life-size resin sculptures of various postures, with a designated number, the artist's signature and the work's title “Chinese Offspring” tattooed onto each of their bodies. They are often hung upside down, indicating the uncertainty of their life and their powerlessness in changing their own fates.Thursday, November 27, 2008
Solovki - Sound, Image, and Memory
I attended an event put on by Duncan Higgins who biannually visits the Solovki islands in North Russia. It was held at the Sheffield Cathedral on All Souls Day of this month. I loved it. Nigel left after 20 minutes. He thinks he might be attention deficit.
Immediately upon walking into the cathedral there are large moving film projections aimed at different nooks and beams. The tree tops swayed in the wind near the top of the ceiling and the pillars wore the trunks and lower branches. The photograph above was my attempt to capture the forest being projected into a side nave. It was absolutely breathtaking and I sat beside it all evening so that I could keep watching it.
There were also at least 4-5 small projections which functioned as small beacons of light on different walls in the church, much like a night light. Shone onto the grey stone wall they had a beautiful quality of colour and texture.
The entire performance was one of organ. Now, I am not an organ enthusiast, but this was something different. Not only was it paired with the projections and an ethereal quality to the cathedral but it was unlike any organ music I had heard before. I swear some sounded like a retro Frankenstein movie. It was great!
I snapped a couple of more pictures once the lights went on and the cathedral was dimly lit.
Immediately upon walking into the cathedral there are large moving film projections aimed at different nooks and beams. The tree tops swayed in the wind near the top of the ceiling and the pillars wore the trunks and lower branches. The photograph above was my attempt to capture the forest being projected into a side nave. It was absolutely breathtaking and I sat beside it all evening so that I could keep watching it.
There were also at least 4-5 small projections which functioned as small beacons of light on different walls in the church, much like a night light. Shone onto the grey stone wall they had a beautiful quality of colour and texture.
The entire performance was one of organ. Now, I am not an organ enthusiast, but this was something different. Not only was it paired with the projections and an ethereal quality to the cathedral but it was unlike any organ music I had heard before. I swear some sounded like a retro Frankenstein movie. It was great!
I snapped a couple of more pictures once the lights went on and the cathedral was dimly lit.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Writing Group: Attempt #2
I arrive home from my second go at the writing group which meets every 2 weeks. I open the door and announce to Nigel, "my writing group turned into a fiasco tonight!"
The first gathering had given me the impression the whole group was conjured up for asylum seekers as most of the attendees were those hoping to work with them. This didn't leave me with the most welcoming feeling, but I was determined to ride it out.
The second meeting I am interested to see that most of the refugee workers have not come back. There are new faces, a few from different European countries, and a few familiar faces. The writer leading the group this week is also new.
About half an hour late a "refugee" arrives. Many turn and I can feel the excitement as various individual expectations begin to be met. I drop my head in embarrassment at any sign of unnaturalness this man must feel entering on his own.
I also eluded to there being someone in the group I might avoid. This man is back, an older gentleman, who can talk the ear of anyone who makes eye contact for too long. He can hijack the entire group for endless rants. He considers himself an expert in both writing and asylum seekers. I have a sneaking suspicion he is beginning to lose his mind, which endears him to me beyond his endless advice.
Similar to last time, he starts out during a quiet writing exercise trying to get the writing teacher to edit some previous works of his in a loud voice. She manages to give minimal input and still concentrate on what she is writing. It seems to be handled well.
Once the exercise is over she asks us to share what we have read out loud going around in a circle (starting with me). I read mine and it continues until we get to the older gentleman.
"Do you have anything to share?" She asks.
"I have more important things to do than write about things like this," he says. We skip him and continued around the circle. The writing teacher pulls out interesting or positive details about each of our writing and expands on it.
About 2 people from the end he pipes up again and tells us that obviously he is the only one who is willing to "drop the pebble in the pond" and begins a critical rant of our work, except one. Our subject has been to write about a childhood memory or moment when we had been particularly happy. He points out that relationships are the only thing one should be writing about and that the rest is a throw away. The only one he isn't objecting to is written touchingly about a deceased brother.
The rant isn't ending there. It continues on despite people protesting until one intelligent woman says, "you know what would be great? If you could take part in the exercises to illustrate what you are talking about." He doesn't bite. There is absolutely no way he will waste his time writing about useless things. Someone else suggests this is not an editing group, but a beginner and casual writing group.
By this point people start talking amongst themselves, tired of the ranting. Someone jumps up and brings out tea and biscuits and I begin chatting with an interpreter from Austria who is sitting next to me.
This series of photos is taken while waiting late at night at a bus stop in Sheffield.
I am not aware until we are all finished and putting our jackets on that a row has broken out between this gentleman and the writing instructor. I catch the end of his shouted line, "well maybe if you had experienced the things I have..." as the writing instructor abruptly gets up and leaves with the rest of us. She mutters under her breath that it is normal to have giant egos in writing groups, but that she doesn't normally handle it in this way.
I leave and wander in the cold night to the bus stop. As I wait there I think about this man and why he has come. I wonder if he is lonely and needs to be around people despite his difficult personality. If that is the case, it would really hurt him to be told not to come. If he is lonely would he recognize it in himself? He is undoubtedly a quirky personality. I like a bit of quirk and find that most people I initially avoid endear themselves to me because of that oddness. I do still wonder if his mind is going as well.
The first gathering had given me the impression the whole group was conjured up for asylum seekers as most of the attendees were those hoping to work with them. This didn't leave me with the most welcoming feeling, but I was determined to ride it out.
The second meeting I am interested to see that most of the refugee workers have not come back. There are new faces, a few from different European countries, and a few familiar faces. The writer leading the group this week is also new.
About half an hour late a "refugee" arrives. Many turn and I can feel the excitement as various individual expectations begin to be met. I drop my head in embarrassment at any sign of unnaturalness this man must feel entering on his own.
I also eluded to there being someone in the group I might avoid. This man is back, an older gentleman, who can talk the ear of anyone who makes eye contact for too long. He can hijack the entire group for endless rants. He considers himself an expert in both writing and asylum seekers. I have a sneaking suspicion he is beginning to lose his mind, which endears him to me beyond his endless advice.
Similar to last time, he starts out during a quiet writing exercise trying to get the writing teacher to edit some previous works of his in a loud voice. She manages to give minimal input and still concentrate on what she is writing. It seems to be handled well.
Once the exercise is over she asks us to share what we have read out loud going around in a circle (starting with me). I read mine and it continues until we get to the older gentleman.
"Do you have anything to share?" She asks.
"I have more important things to do than write about things like this," he says. We skip him and continued around the circle. The writing teacher pulls out interesting or positive details about each of our writing and expands on it.
About 2 people from the end he pipes up again and tells us that obviously he is the only one who is willing to "drop the pebble in the pond" and begins a critical rant of our work, except one. Our subject has been to write about a childhood memory or moment when we had been particularly happy. He points out that relationships are the only thing one should be writing about and that the rest is a throw away. The only one he isn't objecting to is written touchingly about a deceased brother.
The rant isn't ending there. It continues on despite people protesting until one intelligent woman says, "you know what would be great? If you could take part in the exercises to illustrate what you are talking about." He doesn't bite. There is absolutely no way he will waste his time writing about useless things. Someone else suggests this is not an editing group, but a beginner and casual writing group.
By this point people start talking amongst themselves, tired of the ranting. Someone jumps up and brings out tea and biscuits and I begin chatting with an interpreter from Austria who is sitting next to me.
This series of photos is taken while waiting late at night at a bus stop in Sheffield.
I am not aware until we are all finished and putting our jackets on that a row has broken out between this gentleman and the writing instructor. I catch the end of his shouted line, "well maybe if you had experienced the things I have..." as the writing instructor abruptly gets up and leaves with the rest of us. She mutters under her breath that it is normal to have giant egos in writing groups, but that she doesn't normally handle it in this way.
I leave and wander in the cold night to the bus stop. As I wait there I think about this man and why he has come. I wonder if he is lonely and needs to be around people despite his difficult personality. If that is the case, it would really hurt him to be told not to come. If he is lonely would he recognize it in himself? He is undoubtedly a quirky personality. I like a bit of quirk and find that most people I initially avoid endear themselves to me because of that oddness. I do still wonder if his mind is going as well.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Chichester
I found myself in the little town of Chichester last weekend for an art show I had been short-listed for: The National Open Art Competition. The show has been around for awhile, but it has gone upscale this year with a jury of established members of the London art community coupled with some big prize money to draw in artists from the entire country.
I arrived by train in the morning and wandered in the town until the show was due to start.
The weather was a bit nippy which I am so enjoying after a year in Africa.
I made my way to the exhibition and being one of the first ones I was able to get some shots before the crowds entered (about 10 minutes later). People milled about drinking wine and eating crisps. I chatted with another artist who had come from Liverpool that day.
This was one of my favourite pieces in the exhibition and I couldn't believe how low the price was.
An installation shot of my work (lower left).
The centre piece for the exhibition.
Then before I knew it the show was over and I headed back out to wander the streets again.
The sun began to set and I wonder to myself what I am going to do that evening. I have a B&B booked, but I don't want to go back too early.
I discover the Chichester Cathedral which is famous and visited by Gandhi and other world figures. It was too dark by the time I realized there was a Marc Chagall stain glass window.
I discovered there was an Evensong Service in 20 minutes and wandered in to hear the men and boys' choir and to take part in the service. It was really relaxing. In fact, I sat there comparing the two events that evening, the art opening and the contemplative service. I felt calm in the cathedral. Big art openings often have the feeling of scrambling to me: scrambling to the top, scrambling ahead of the next artist, scrambling to be noticed, scrambling to stay relevant, scrambling to keep exhibiting. When does the scrambling stop? I can get drained and if I am honest, quite disillusioned by the whole thing. I really do think there is a place for truth, as I have decided this might be the key issue, in the art world. By truth I mean unabashed honesty in who we all are. (more on that in another blog)
After the service ended I was approached by an older gentleman who thought I was a member. We began chatting and it turned out he was a retired Captain (a pilot) who invited me along with some of the others to be his guest at a wine and appetizers get together after the service for donors. I was delighted and had a fabulous evening chatting with all sorts of interesting people.
I arrived by train in the morning and wandered in the town until the show was due to start.
The weather was a bit nippy which I am so enjoying after a year in Africa.
I made my way to the exhibition and being one of the first ones I was able to get some shots before the crowds entered (about 10 minutes later). People milled about drinking wine and eating crisps. I chatted with another artist who had come from Liverpool that day.
This was one of my favourite pieces in the exhibition and I couldn't believe how low the price was.
An installation shot of my work (lower left).
The centre piece for the exhibition.
Then before I knew it the show was over and I headed back out to wander the streets again.
The sun began to set and I wonder to myself what I am going to do that evening. I have a B&B booked, but I don't want to go back too early.
I discover the Chichester Cathedral which is famous and visited by Gandhi and other world figures. It was too dark by the time I realized there was a Marc Chagall stain glass window.
I discovered there was an Evensong Service in 20 minutes and wandered in to hear the men and boys' choir and to take part in the service. It was really relaxing. In fact, I sat there comparing the two events that evening, the art opening and the contemplative service. I felt calm in the cathedral. Big art openings often have the feeling of scrambling to me: scrambling to the top, scrambling ahead of the next artist, scrambling to be noticed, scrambling to stay relevant, scrambling to keep exhibiting. When does the scrambling stop? I can get drained and if I am honest, quite disillusioned by the whole thing. I really do think there is a place for truth, as I have decided this might be the key issue, in the art world. By truth I mean unabashed honesty in who we all are. (more on that in another blog)
After the service ended I was approached by an older gentleman who thought I was a member. We began chatting and it turned out he was a retired Captain (a pilot) who invited me along with some of the others to be his guest at a wine and appetizers get together after the service for donors. I was delighted and had a fabulous evening chatting with all sorts of interesting people.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Look Alikes: Art Studio Collectives
I thought this was quite a coincidence that the studios I was involved with in both Toronto, Canada, and Sheffield, UK had such similar logos. What is up with the see-through houses?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Story Swapping
I live in Sheffield and one of the hardest things for me in this city is that I have very few friends. I work alone in my studio and try to go to art openings, but the Sheffield art crowd seem a hard lot to crack. I was even hoping that working in a warehouse, with a reported 70 other artists (where are they all?) would naturally lead to interactions and friendships. These are few and far between. It is rare to run into someone.
Last week I spotted a leaflet for a new group called "Swapping Stories". The description sounded like a writing group. It welcomed all newcomers to Sheffield, along with asylum seekers, and anyone wanting to tell or write stories amongst the group.
I went to the first gathering and there was indeed an interesting mix of people. I like interesting mixes because you are guaranteed awkward moments, someone to talk to, someone who will talk to you, someone who will talk AT you, and someone to avoid that winds up endearing themselves to you so much that you eventually seek them out. How can you go wrong when you throw cookies and organic apples in on top of it all?
As we went around the circle introducing ourselves it became clear that most of the people were there because they worked with or were interested in refugees or asylum seekers and wanted to help facilitate them into the group. Many of the conversations continually veered back to the topic of why there were no refugees or asylum seekers who showed up. There was a growing feeling in me that the invitation for newcomers to Sheffield was a bit of a filler and not the intended aim of the group. If that is true, that is too bad.
I remember my dad's advice when we were growing up: if you have your eyes set on some goal and are working really hard to get towards and some other great opportunity comes along ...take it. You can always go back to your original goal, but the new opportunity might not present itself again.
A Lady Writing, Johannes Vermeer
Here are some of the short writing exercises I did in the group.
A Description of Your First Memory including all the Senses.
When I scan back to my first memory it must be one of the few I have before any of my sisters are born. I sit on the outside steps of a creaking wooden communal Victorian house on Charles Street. My doll who is clutched in my hands is as big as I am. She is plastic with that sort of thick matted hair that smelled a bit musty.
There are adults sitting on the stairs around me, who I will later learn are called hippies and street people. To me they are all the people that live together with me in this big house. The people who concern me most are my dad (who is sitting next to me), my mom (who is standing on the sidewalk with a camera aimed at us), and the old man in the room next to ours who gives me sweet candies that melt into sharp shards on my tongue if I suck them too long.
The sun is bright and my mom yells, "smile". I glance up and squint at the bright sun. To make sure everyone is posing appropriately I look at my doll, point my mom out and explain to her that she is being photographed. SNAP! That moment is frozen in my mind and in my childhood photo album. I think I am about two and a half.
A Memory of an Event from Childhood (for which I ran out of time)
I was 10 years old when Teresa came to live with us. It was explained to me that her parents weren't able to take care of her or her sister. Where is her sister, I asked? With her grandparents. Why can't her parents look after her? Because she was found alone and her parents had taken too many drugs. Why can't she stay with her grandparents too? We don't know.
Teresa was 6 years old with blond hair and blue eyes. To make things confusing my 7 year old sister was also named Teresa and had blond hair and blue eyes. We had to call them by their first and middle names. Teresa Lynn was my real sister and Teresa Louise was my temporary sister. The three of us spent our time competing for our youngest sister's giggles and attention: Laura, 3 years old with brown hair and blue eyes who grew to hate being the centre of attention.
Lady Writing a Letter with Her Maid, Johannes Vermeer
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
BBC Radio South Yorkshire
If any of you happen to be in Sheffield you might have caught us on BBC Radio this last Saturday evening with Paulette Edwards talking about our time in Liberia. There is a recording of her show on the BBC website until this next Saturday when it is replaced by the next show.
To listen click on the following link:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/southyorkshire/radio_sheffield/
Click on LISTEN AGAIN on the right hand panel.
Then click on PAULETTE EDWARDS under Most Popular Shows. If you hear the Celebration song you know you are in the right show.
We are interviewed at about 1 hour and 14 minutes into the show between two sets of songs (FASTFORWARD to 1:13:00 and it will start at 1:14:30).
Monday, November 10, 2008
Interesting UK Tidbits
I am studying to take my UK Immigration test and there are all sorts of interesting facts I am learning. I keep getting asked if I am excited about getting my citizenship, but there are steps to go through before I can apply. I started off with a Spousal Visa (I couldn't leave Canada after my wedding until I got it...hence the Canadian honeymoon), and am now applying for Permanent Residency (I still can't vote or access social service funds), and finally citizenship (which of course will remain dual with my Canadian).
"Until the late 1950s and early 1960s young people dressed in the same way as their parents, listened to the same music and lived their lives the same way. Then teenagers were invented - the word teenager was brought into use at this time - and suddenly, the advent of the contraceptive pill, pop music from artists such as The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, teenagers had much more freedom and started to live a different life. Fashion followed and young people soon began to look and behave in a totally different way from their parents."
Excerpt from The British Citizenship Test by Bernice Walmsley
"Until the late 1950s and early 1960s young people dressed in the same way as their parents, listened to the same music and lived their lives the same way. Then teenagers were invented - the word teenager was brought into use at this time - and suddenly, the advent of the contraceptive pill, pop music from artists such as The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, teenagers had much more freedom and started to live a different life. Fashion followed and young people soon began to look and behave in a totally different way from their parents."
Excerpt from The British Citizenship Test by Bernice Walmsley
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