La Decision Doypack is a 27 minute film presentation by Paul Rooney. Prior to the showing viewers are shown into a waiting area, the resource room it is called. There they can sit and wait or peruse books by Rooney or volumes by other writers and artists. It seems a selection deliberately chosen and so it transpires as the film itself references most if not all these works.
At this point it is necessary to use the P word. Post-modernism. Rooney’s recursive, multiple images and referential texts attempt a dialogue within itself. The plot, as such, involves a salesman attempting to negotiate a deal for the packaging innovation Doypack but he arrives in Paris during the 1968 student riots. He is also a would be actor, and the film basically contrasts his acting tutor’s demand for naturalism with the heightened language of marketing. As the riots develop and are then stifled (surrealistically by the descent of cling film and vacuum packaging over the city) all becomes a performance, the life, the marketing, the protest.
To say then, that I enjoyed La Decision Doypack would be correct, it has moments of great humour, and some of us do gain pleasure from reference spotting: Warhol, Wordsworth, Barthes, Stanislavski, Thunderbirds? At the same time it is a confused, confusing piece, of charm but also perhaps a touch overlong and repetitive. This is I realise deliberate, but it is incompletely effective.
La Decision Doypack shows daily at 6, 7 and 8 pm until December 18th. I may go back to watch it again, which perhaps reveals my feelings. I liked it, I wasn’t totally convinced, I felt I got some of it and I missed some of it.
Having spoken to Richard Davis it appears that I may have conflated conversations I had with him and Joseph Glen initially, and subsequently misinterpreted my memory of those conversations to attribute remarks to Mr Davis that I accept he did not say.
I have no desire to offend Mr Davis, whose work and ceaseless energy to promote the work of others I admire immensely, along with his willingness to engage in the discussion of local art that is going on.
In the summer, the Lunecy Review hosted some…er…. lively debate on the alacrity or otherwise with which big chains support local artists. What did the debate achieve? Well, it brought a torrent of traffic to the site, quadrupling advertising revenues from zero to zilch and that’s got to be good. But, even though discussion focussed entirely on music, it set me thinking about approaching a large chain to distribute self-published books.
Waterstones seemed the best place to start, so a lonely David took up his slingshot and tiptoed across King Street, only to find that the giant of Gath was actually quite friendly. Negotiations were slightly complicated by changes of personnel but, this autumn, the shop finally came under the control of branch manager, Gemma Barry.
So my experience is positive, but you do have to be persistent. Here’s a traditional, local-paper-style picture of the proud poet handing over his works to bemused bookseller Edith Newby.
You can now saunter into Waterstones and ask for Stinging the Sepia and Perspectives by name. No obligation to buy, you understand, but it’d be nice if the shop heard enquiries. If any other Lunecy readers have had experiences of getting work into big shops, click on that shiny link below that says “Leave a comment” .
November’s Spotlight was the busiest for some time, in part due to active promotion by one performer at least, and partly I think due to the consistent strength of the bill in recent months. It is obviously great to see new faces come to support a friend, and the hope is always that some will return on subsequent occasions. Unfortunately too many depart as soon as their favourite has performed, often missing a large part of the event.
Compere Simon Baker compared tonight’s line-up favourably to ITV’s competition, claiming more celebrities and none of them wanted ‘out of here!’ First up however was the usual assorted open-mic’ers, at least two making their Spotlight debuts. These slots often lead to full sets at later events but are also used by artists developing or experimenting with new ideas. This time around there were opportunities for the impressive stand-up of Sid (‘Blackpool, it’s like Morecambe without the dungarees and banjos’) and the weirdo character comedy of Reginald Winters. The latter clearly a work in progress, the former confident and assured, but both generating plenty of laughter. In between came Spotlight regular Mark Charlesworth’s broodier poems, dark reflections on life, the picaresque opener Angela Martin and the snappier verses of Lynette McKone. As ever Spotlight gave a warm response to all, and I wouldn’t be too surprised to see any of them on that stage again soon.
Mollie Baxter will hopefully excuse me referring to her as a veteran, a point demonstrated by her resurrecting a 10 year old song. It was two newer songs that most impressed, particularly opener ‘She is Dragon.’ Wordy literate lyricists such as Mollie often fail to receive due credit for their musicianship. So let’s be clear, Mollie Baxter is as talented a guitar player as she is a wordsmith, and ‘She Is Dragon’ demonstrates this with delicate melody and powerful chording.
Lunecy contributor Carla Scarano D’Antonio was next up and charmed with her evocative use of her second language to convey life in Rome and Lancaster in poetic forms. Her richly accented voice adds to the emotional depth she achieves from apparent simplicity.
A few seemed to anticipate a break next, thus missing part of Tony Walsh’s set. If you’ve seen Tony before (such as at his barnstorming Totally Wired appearance) you’ll know to expect rapid, flowing, beat delivery of sharp yet tender looks at lifes less celebrated areas. His poems are packed with clever wordplay, quickfire alliteration, assonance and rhyme combined with a dream like quality of consecutive non-sequiturs (a Walsh-like phrase in itself.)
Suitably refreshed from this, Jim Turner led us up a mountain or two. Many of his poems take inspiration and setting from trips to the far north of Scotland, but whilst maintaining a descriptive integrity Turner achieves the happy knack of humanizing the landscape. So wild terrain echoes emotion, each metaphorically commenting on the other without obvious contrivance.
Brindley Hallam Dennis stepped to the mic and became Kowalski. An outspoken, crotchety, New Yorker with a fund of tales of escapades with Miriam ‘she’s my old lady’. Dennis’ glorious performance brought Kowalski truly and uproariously alive, and I’d love to hear more.
Finally music once more, Orchestre DC Dancette’s Steve Lewis performing solo. Over the course of half a dozen songs with ‘found lyrics’ he revealed a fine vocal range, though he mainly worked in a breathy deeper tone. The songs were gently humorous and well played, though I’d have liked more of the ‘oomph’ an 8 piece band provides on a couple of them.
Lewis rounded off another good night at Spotlight, topping off a well-balanced bill (something that hasn’t always been the case). And those who stayed the distance surely had an excellent evening’s entertainment.
Tucked away in the bold white Thomas Storey Room off the bar/reception area in The Storey is an art installation of vivid colour and motion by Adrian Pritchard. ‘Superfluous’ comes with approving comments by Lauren Laverne no less, not that that matters.
The work consists of a slowly rotating paint dispenser above a mesh from which varing lengths of strand dangle. Viscous bold paints slowly slide down these stands, in droplets, streams, big blobs inexorably or rapidly until they splatter on the white sheet below. It is as if there are two works of art here, the resulting splatter pattern, a gorgeous psychedelic rhorshach, and the multi-coloured, varying lengths and shaped blobs on the strands above.
I was instantly reminded of the fictional Pablo Cortez working in zero gravity with droplets of paint in Ernest Hogans’s SF novel Cortez On Jupiter, and then of work at the University show earlier this year. Regardless, its a lovely beacon of colour and pattern in a white space, and well worth popping in to see on one of these dark grey and wet autumn days. You’ll walk out with a smile, I promise you that.
The Existence Of Harvey Lord is a CD infused with a sense of the Romantic Sublime. Harvey has gathered an 11-piece band to convey his mission musically, a vision of loss and hope, one man’s place in a landscape, a desiderium in a folk-jazz mode.
The classicism at the heart of his music reveals itself in tiny epiphanies, a ripple of banjo, a slide riff, a haunting ocarina, delicate almost non-existent touches of percussion, all parts barely noticed individually yet crucially weighted such that their absence could not be contemplated.
This is an unusually holistic album even as its slips from the incessant acoustic fusion of ‘Ligan’ to the Ringo-esque ‘Who Dreams?’ to the cello drone of ‘Mahayana.’ The musicianship is superb throughout, taut yet fexible, never clinical so that comedowns are warm not cold, and highs blissful.
The Existence Of Harvey Lord is a metaphysical journey into the night of a small town (explicitly referenced in three songs), away from the bustle of the day and the town, yet fascinated by its humanity, its life, a musical equivalent of Wordsworth’s ‘Lines Composed Upon Westminster Bridge’ perhaps. And it is a triumph of musical ability matching self-aware imaginative prowess and bringing forth something truly special.
The second Body Collective exhibition opened last night at Mona House in Morecambe. On entry visitors were handed a brown envelope labelled Body Collective Report which served as the catalogue for the show, a huge step up from the unidentified work that was a part of BC1 a few months ago. Inside it was immediately clear that although featuring much work similar to the earlier show this was altogether a more professional event. However it must be said that some potential attendees were still unable to find the gallery or its obscure side-entrance.
BC2 showcases the work of 7 artists (or groups of artists in Free:Control’s case) in assorted media. The first of these, and one which gained much attention all night is Pam Beck’s Endorphia, a chocolate cast of a woman laid prone on a table. Guests were invited to cut into and eat the chocolate, which provoked mixed reactions: nervous jokes about where to start, questioning reluctance to use a knife on the image of a woman, an open expression of the erotic aspects, and much reasoned discussion. People repeatedly assessed their own reaction; one viewer wondering aloud if her discomfort was entirely due to it being a female figure she was expected to carve, or if her vegetarianism would have prompted a similar response to a male figure. Added frisson came as the model stood nearby happily chatting to people who were cutting into her effigy’s breast, or licking at its pudenda, its integrity violated by a cake knife.
And yet it’s title and the accompanying text explicitly link the consumprion of chocolate to the sensations of pleasure, so is the sexualisation of the effigy by the consumer gratuitous or highly relevant?
Helen Gorrill’s large scale ink wash images of dominatrix figures are incredibly striking, beautifully coloured and balancing detail and abstract well. Their juxtaposition alongside Endorphia offers further stimulus for questioning our reactions. Her other pieces, awkward, explicit male nudes provoked complaint when displayed in Carlisle previously. It’s hard to see how a traditional interpretation of obscenity could apply, the figures are grotesque, brutal even, yet undeniably human and real, distorted by the artist in ways emphatically polar opposite to her female figures. This is no casual nudity.
Richard davis’ series of photographs entitled Body language offers a more casual nudity, but in a stylised and highly non-sexualised context. Each image features acutely pertinent sloganeering painted on the face or body of the subject. So, for example, Richard Turner’s bare torso bares the blunt ‘Love Music Hate Racism’, a young Polish woman’s face asks ‘Dirty Pole or Just like You?’ and a naked woman bears two inscriptions: Inspire Me and My Body is A Blank Canvas. These last phrases were later observed carved (by a visitor) into similar places on the chocolate woman’s figure, tying the works together. Davis is a talented photographer with a particularly strong facility for visualising disparate elements into a strikingly effective whole.
Sloganeering and how people view others is also a core of Joseph Glen’s work. His primitive styled images are often decorated with social and political statements. Notably his self portrait ‘Why do you stare at me? Have I No Place in Society?’ and ‘God Save The Queen’ across the face of a niqab wearing woman. It is a dramatic work, though its effect is partially diluted by the sheer number of Glen’s canvases. Paradoxically they also gain impact from their bold colours in such quantity in other ways.
If Glen’s work often references his own experience then that is the core of Adam Hardman’s sole piece here. A tape outline of a body on the floor, around three boxes each playing soundtracks of aspects of his life. It is a work that perhaps needs more space, less chatter, to fully appreciate but Adam has expressed interesting ideas to develop it further.
From the large scale of most of these works, and their obvious, yet coincidental commentary on each other, to Rachael Allan’s stand alone display. Exquisit miniature models of a birthing couch, a pram and a mortuary table with body bag are skilfully rendered at what I’d guess from my Airfix days to be something like 1/64th scale. Oddly miniaturisation has a two-fold effect, the journey from birth to death is made both mundane and significant.
Finally, in a side chamber Free:Control have created the latest iteration of their ongoing quasi-mythology of Azoth. This time the pagan altar of the earlier works gains a body, visceral and shocking, yet seemingly willingly sacrificed for a re-birth? It is a dark work, a nightmare fabulation of intricate detail and striking composition. The depth of invention at Free:Control and the technical awareness to realise their vision is clear.
Mona House is a small space, but this is a large and significant exhibition, packed with ideas, questions, answers, challenges and, overall, wit and intelligence. On my way out I took a piece of chocolate thigh and pondered what I had seen.
The high water mark of the second flowering of German Romanticism is the work of Franz Schubert, and in particular the song cycle Winterreise. Schubert’s setting of 24 poems by Wilhelm Muller tells the tragic story of a young man who travels to the human of a woman he loves, only to be rejected, and of his desolate ‘winter journey’ afterwards.
The German born but British based artist Mariele Neudecker has explored many of the themes of German Romanticism over her career, from early works reproducing the paintings of Caspar David Friedrich in three dimensions to her more recent film setting of Mahler’s kindertotenlieder. Her films comprising her Winterreise are both literal and metaphorical representations of Schubert and Muller and serve as a backdrop and complement to the performance of bass baritone Andrew Foster-Williams and pianist Christopher Gould.
As one of the audience told me afterwards, the combination of recital and film can be a mistake, one distracting from the other, but Winterreise gets it absolutely right. Foster-Williams is a great singer and he performs remarkably across a difficult, arduous work. 85 minutes with a furrowed brow almost, as he portrays the anguish and angst of Muller’s protagonist (himself an echo of Goethe’s The Sorrows Of Young Werther a generation earlier.) It should be noted that recordings of Schubert generally feature a tenor but the deeper voice has equal merits for me. Gould is a sensitive pianist, careful and responsive, coming to the fore in the Sturm und Drang mid sections, fading almost into the mist at other points. His rapport with Foster-Williams and supporting appreciation of both singer and visuals is near perfect to my ear.
As for the visuals themselves? Neudecker has consistently adopted a long view, and that is ever-present here. The films repeatedly look away from the observer (something seen in the paintings of Friedrich) placing us in the protagonist’s mind throughout. Looped film of a boat wake cutting through icy seas draw the eye both towards the departure point and, tellingly, under the ice. Snow covered streets change with the light yet remain essentially the same. Often elements of apparent interest are distant, mist-shrouded and ghostly. Each film takes an epigraph paraphrasing Muller, koan like, suggestive.
There has been much debate over the years about the ending of Winterreise. Muller depicts the appearance of a barefoot elderly hurdy-gurdy man, a scene open to multiple interpretations, and Neudecker maintains this ambiguity. I have my ideas; it is a tragic piece exploring dark emotions and the elemental sublime at the heart of Romanticism.
Winterreise was first made in 2004 and has been performed like this about 25 times since. Whether it is the art, the music or Romanticism that draws you along, the end result is a superb work worth revisiting. LICA are to be commended for bringing such world-class performers to Lancaster.
Time for the Good Looking Boy By Michael Wicherek
Tuesday 1 December 7pm & Wednesday 2 December 1.30pm & 7pm
Box Clever return to The Dukes this December with Time for the Good Looking Boy, an inspiring new play from the creators of Sixteen Up which gained rave reviews at the venue in 2008. This new urban ghost story from the same writer is set to be just as compelling.
The play tells of an ordinary young man experiencing the harsh realities of growing up, independence and the consequences of a journey which will change lives forever.
Box Clever is a London-based touring company dedicated to the creation of inspiring contemporary theatre for young people with a focus on distinctive new writing about life in the here-and-now. This play forms part of the Urban Mischief Project which aims to present productions of new writing to young people in a national network of theatre settings. Time for the Good Looking Boy is recommended for ages 14 and over.
Tickets for the show cost £8 and £5 (concessions). Please call The Dukes Box Office on 01524 598500 or see www.dukes-lancaster.org to book. There are also a number of free tickets available for under 26s as part of the A Night Less Ordinary Scheme.
