Sunday, 26 July 2015

Why Do I See My Soap As a Sculpture?

Having asked a lot of questions in my previous post (16 July) and left them open as food for thought, I now need to explain why I feel 'my soap is a sculpture' - not to force my opinion on anyone, simply to give my own personal perspective and perhaps make access/engagement with it (my soap as a sculpture) easier. 
And that 'own personal perspective' is paramount in this discussion.
It strikes me that the essence, the fundamental question, in this enquiry, when you strip it right back to the very heart, is: what is the purpose of Art? What's it for? 
The video below is Alain de Botton's perspective; in my opinion somewhat traditional in its outlook and content but a good way in to this enquiry. It addresses that very question of what Art is for, and, very importantly, it implies/suggests, that the answer is different for everyone.



Once you begin to go through the process of forming an answer to that question of what, to you, Art is for, then the consideration of other answers becomes a possibility, provided of course that the initial formation of one's own answer doesn't become a rigid list against which all Art is to be considered/judged, and if all the boxes aren't ticked the pronouncement 'This is NOT Art' immediately and inevitably follows.
After all, Art needs to move forward. Art exists in a contemporary context because artists live in the contemporary context, i.e. the artists of the past lived in their time, as present-day artists live and work in the present day, in the society of today, in their society. We can enjoy the Art of the past now and we can enjoy and, very importantly, admire the Art of the past within the context in which it was created.
Alain de Botton explains how we can enjoy the Art of the past today. A lot of the artworks of the past that we admire now were controversial in their day, because they were questioning the conventional, they were moving Art forward. We enjoy them now without being (negatively) affected by what was then controversial because human consciousness has moved on, has evolved to the point where those artworks no longer push us out of our comfort zone.
BUT ART NEEDS TO MOVE FORWARD ... 



Thursday, 16 July 2015

My Soap Is a Sculpture ...

Continuing to log my preparation for the Tunnel Gallery Artist in Residency I plan to document this stage of the process of the project with photographs of objects of interest and a variety of clay forms. The found objects are either newly found or long treasured and the clay forms are newly made and some are part of past explorations. 
In fact I have been doing such 'explorations' for several years now. Some I have logged on this blog, others not, because they existed in an as yet undefined context. The context, however, has now become defined with the Tunnel Residency. Which is one of the reasons I'm delighted with the prospect.
The purpose of gathering these finds and clay forms is to instigate questioning and discoveries. Questioning about art, sculpture, 3D form, installation. And discoveries about working with chance, seeing and finding things of beauty and artistic interest in our surroundings, be it in nature, at home, at school.
So ... I'll begin with one of the more challenging, and most recent, 'finds': a bar of oatmeal soap (hence the flecks), two remnants of an almost used up bar stuck to a new one and then used for some time, creating the softer, rounded contours. The images are rather two dimensional, so the sculptural element is somewhat reduced here. Still, it is clearly a three dimensional object, with an aesthetic beauty, and all the more beautiful - in my eyes - because it came about through happenstance. I saw it one morning and thought 'this is interesting, visually/aesthetically and conceptually', 'this is Art'. 

Is it Art?      



If I hadn't said it was a bar of soap, would you relate to it/connect with it as a 3D painting or a wall sculpture? Can you see beyond the fact that it is a bar of soap? More easily probably in these images. If you saw it here, in real life, you might find it difficult, impossible even to see anything but a bar of soap. But what if it's displayed on a plinth?

In an art gallery?




Would that make access to it easier? 
Would an audioguide explaining what the artist is aiming to achieve make it possible for you to engage with this sculpture?
...

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

A Tall Order?

In my previous post (14 July) I interjected the question 'a tall order?', simply because what I set out may seem just that. 
This may seem/be an ambitious project within a school setting, but a crucial element in it is the process, and part of that process - and indeed any creative process - is the constant reviewing, adapting, refining of it. A need to be continuously alert to what is happening, how the work is evolving, harnessing happenstance to explore a new avenue, changing tack if something isn't working. This is a principle on which my work is based; a cornerstone of my entire practice. 
Therefore, I am conscious of the fact that this may be a big ask from a school community, and so if I need to review, adapt and refine, that will be part of the process, part of the story of the project.  
I also strongly believe that in order to grow, to improve, you have to be at the edge of uncertainty. Indeed Philip Glass puts it very well in his Music Without Words: 'If you always know what you're doing, nothing new happens (as per my post dated 6 May 2015). 

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

Simon Jenkins in The Guardian of 25 June 2015

An interesting article in The Guardian (fulfilment-post-digital-world-lonely-cyberspace); of interest as food for thought in preparation for the Tonbridge School 'Tunnel Gallery Artist in Residence' post in the autumn (see previous post [28 June]), because it homes in on the 'social sculpture' aspect of the project. 
By social sculpture I mean the invisible sculptural work that evolves alongside the making of a visual/concrete installation by a group of participants, who, through their participation, become an empathetic group, with sensitivity towards each other and each other's contribution, and an artistic sensibility towards the evolving art work, fed by an enthusiastic commitment to the successful outcome of the visual installation. A sensitivity that may then be carried on outside that project. (A tall order??)
Simon Jenkins talks about the significance, in this digital age, of 'shared emotions, surprises, fulfilments that come from participating'. My aim for the Tunnel Gallery project is to bring about the creation of a visual (and sensory?) sculpture installation harnessing and at the same time feeding our need for these shared emotions, surprises and fulfilments through participating.




Festivals, flights and fulfilment: welcome to the post-digital world


However well-connected it makes us, cyberspace is lonely. That’s why, more and more, we are looking for live experiences

Meeting this week in the south of France is the giant Cannes Lions Festival of Creativity. It is a fancy title for the marketing world’s Mad Men on sea. Rumour has it that half the world’s annual ad revenue is negotiated on its yachts and in its hotels and bars. It thus joins the Cannes film festival, the Frankfurt book fair, cancer research in Chicago and arms fairs everywhere as geographical fixed points in the post-digital world.
Meanwhile, the stars of vlogging and blogging are scheduled to gather at the Skip festival – held not on some virtual cloud but in London’s O2 arena. This is found by a search engine no faster than a Jubilee Line train. Is this the shock of the new?
In the 90s we were told all this stuff was yesterday. The digital revolution would replace the need for human contact by the wonders of electronics. Home-working, telecommuting and Skype would eliminate the need for office blocks, universities and mass transit. Video-conference would supplant expensive trips to distant hotels. Who needed to shake hands on a deal? Use a robot.
The craving of business people, indeed of humans in general, to congregate seems resistant to all technology. The commercial fair, like the arts festival, recalls the stock exchanges of 19th-century Europe. It revives the global markets of the Great Silk Road, the Calais staple and medieval Kiev and Novgorod. The digital age may facilitate the modern meeting, but it cannot supplant it.
The post-digital phenomenon is embodied in “the cult of live”. I see it first in the small things. Watch the BBC each night and you get a recorded item of news, then a moment when the presenter “goes live” to the same reporter on location, who says the same thing again. It wastes time, but the story is clearly felt to need the authenticity of “real” time and place.
The power of live is most evident in the music industry. Recording revenues in the past decade have halved for myriad reasons such as piracy. But no one can tell how far this has been matched by soaring revenues from live performance. Madonna and Kanye West must go on tour to reach their markets, as Sir Martin Sorrell must sell his ads from a yacht off Cannes. Stocks and shares may trade digitally, but not even so sophisticated a market as advertising.
This particularly applies to leisure. There are now some 900 music festivals in Britain, with 7 million fans spending an average £900 each at them. These events are on a medieval scale. The valley of Glastonbury this week will make Henry VIII’s field of cloth of gold seem like a vicarage tea party. The BBC Proms should be “unnecessary”, given perfect sound reproduction and broadcasting. But each year they sprawl ever further across west London. When I was young we were told that London theatre was dead. Now you cannot get into a popular West End play without paying touts hundreds of pounds.
Even the British book trade has been revitalised through live. Bookshops fight Amazon with coffee and events. Forty literary festivals in the 80s have become hundreds. Poetry is reverting to Homer’s day. Simon Armitage must traipse the countryside reading to his public. From idyllic Charleston, Sussex, to massive Hay, literature has emerged from the salons of London in search of exchange between author and reader.
I found myself earlier this month at a digital summit just off London’s Silicon Roundabout in Shoreditch. Gathered together were the thrusters of the digital age, charting the outer fringes of their universe. Why were they unable to do it online? They were tweeting and networking, and that was part of the experience. But like the conferees at everything from Davos to Bilderberg, they wanted to be with each other in time and place. Even the digitised zombies of David Eggers’ The Circle had to live together in one office. However well-connected, cyberspace is lonely.
A row of outdated futurology books on my shelf forecast the death of the workplace, the neighbourhood and the city. The nation state was to be rebuilt as an e-democracy. Now we are told that economic growth needs ever bigger cities, ever more networking hubs and ever more planes, trains and cars. The internet has not re-invented social geography. The conference is the pilgrimage destination of our age, even if much of its appeal, as David Lodge wrote, is “sex on expenses”.
I was not alone in once dismissing the digital revolution as a passing craze. (I embarrassingly wrote that the internet would be useful only to lawyers and pornographers.) But Marx was right, that all revolutions attract their antithesis. I find it exhilarating that the post-digital antithesis should be live experience. Live is an instinctive reaction to an excess of screen-gazing, app addiction and the “flight from conversation”.
Figures show patterns of household spending shifting from products to services. Last year the Boston Consulting Group reported that “consumers are moving from owning a luxury product to having a luxury experience”. They seek the shared emotions, surprises, fulfilments that come from participating, not just observing. This is typified by the success of the dating app, Tinder, that results in real meetings. Post-digital lies at the core of the new economics of happiness.
The valued jobs of the future will deliver these individual and collective experiences. In business it means more emphasis on contact with consumers – witness the plethora of “chief customer officers”. In leisure it means those new graduate destinations of food, fashion, exercise, travel, life-style, counselling and therapy. We crave to relate more closely with those we are supposed to love – and cannot do so online.
The goal of human endeavour has never been to make a better phone, pad or watch, but a happier person. The digital age is emerging as no more than a portal to such a goal, which emerges from the architecture of personal relationships. That applies in business as in pleasure. That is why the urge to congregate is now stronger than ever.
One day we will all treat the computer in our pocket as casually as we treat the watch on our wrist. We will move on. But in a BBC attic will lurk some digital Jeremy Clarkson, cavorting with his greying nerds and testing old laptops on “Top Cloud”.