There’s more to Lowry than matchstick people

On Saturday morning I went to the Lowry exhibition at Tate Britain. Since learning about Lowry as a kid in the sixties I’ve always liked his work. But I had no idea how diverse of range his paintings were.

In the spirit of my previous blog post I will in no way try to explain or critique the works of Lowry. All I will say is I enjoyed it, as I knew I would but I can’t get over how different much of the work on display was from what I thought a typical Lowry picture was. I found the exhibition very exciting.

For me Lowry was a magnificent ‘people’s painter’; a natural successor to the likes of Turner and Blake. Many of the pictures are quite gothic in feel and their portrayal of the torture of working people chilling at times. My opinion you understand. Just my opinion.

If you think you know Lowry, go to this exhibition. You may well be forced to think again.

Art is not a skill it’s a state of mind

Art can only ever be in the eye of the beholder. Art cannot be prescribed or quantified. Art is beyond criticism. The art critic is but a fool. And anyone following the utterances of the art critic is an even bigger fool!

An artist, cartoonist and printmaker that I found interesting and whose work I have enjoyed was Ken Sprague (1927–2004). He once said “everyone a special kind of artist”(which was also the title of a TV series he was in for Channel 4 in the eighties). Now from this I understood him to mean that anyone and everyone is capable of being an artist. I firmly believe this to be true. Everybody can be and is an artist. You create something that you believe to be a work of art then it is art. It doesn’t mean that anyone else has to recognise it as such. But equally they can’t state that it isn’t art or claim it to be poor or worthless art. You may think that this is an opinion of convenience; a metaphorical foil to parry and riposte the judgement of others, and perhaps you are right, as you are entitled to your opinion as much as I am entitled to mine. I remain firmly of the view that art, all art, is down to personal choice and personal choice alone.

Art appreciation can only ever be subjective. This is why I maintain that you cannot criticise art. You can say that you don’t like a work of art but it cannot be judged. There are no measurements of artistic merit. You either like something or you don’t. This is why Art competitions are a nonsense; the instrument of the pretentious. 

Art means nothing, yet it means everything. Does it really matter what the artist was thinking when she or he created their work? Not in the slightest. The beholder should take what they want from a work of art, and they should never take what they are told to take. Art critics, those pompous, pumped up, self-obsessed experts of absolutely nothing know no more or no less than you or I do about a work of art. Believe nothing they tell you.

Art is yours for the liking, if you so wish. No one can tell you what to like. You decide!

Enola Gay

Today is Hiroshima Day. The day when the world, or at least a caring part of it, remembers one of the countless barbaric horrors humankind has unleashed upon itself. My pacifist beliefs have stayed with me all my adult life. It is one constant I have never doubted.

I thought I’d share this ink sketch; I drew many years ago. Feel free to use and distribute it if you feel it can help the peace cause.

two useful links about today:

http://imaginepeace.com/archives/19723

http://www.educationscotland.gov.uk/resources/h/hiroshimaday.asp

Walk a mile in my shoes!

None of us are perfect.
We all make mistakes.
I know I've made loads, and will continue to do so.

I try never to be judgemental, although I'm sure I don't always succeed on that front; not to be confused with the joshing in some of my tweets I might add!

I think this applies to all of us:

Hey, hey, you, you, get off of my cloud!

The same but different subject from my previous post; let’s say that in a strange way they complement each other. Blue sky thinking or just plain Cloud-spotting are two of my favourite pastimes. But the other night whilst sitting on the balcony the clouds were so spectacular that I just had to get up off my arse and go and get my camera. Here are a few of those pics:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cloud computing

Cloud computing is just about here. It’s been talked about for such a long time but people are adopting it bit by bit. Web mail was the first part of the transition but now web storage is following on rapidly behind. Undoubtedly Google has done a lot to further the cause and others have followed suit. Photos are stored online by many people now and are an easy way to share. Online music storage is also beginning to take off. But for good honest plain storage of a reasonable size and without masses of adverts I’ve found Dropbox to be a really useful, reliable and free storage space.

Give them a go. I think you’ll like!

 

Earth, wind and fire

The ancient Greeks believed that there were four elements that everything was made up of: earth, water, air, and fire. I think they omitted to mention that little boys are made of slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails, and that little girls made of are sugar and spice and everything nice. But we won’t hold that against them.

Whilst science has explained that they can no longer be considered as elements I have always felt an affinity with them; considering them to be spiritual friends. Finding comfort and solace in them. And before you ask, no I’m not an arsonist!

Thankfully I no longer have to garden. When I did I all too often found it a chore. But one thing I have always loved is the feel of earth on my hands. It is a feeling that’s quite sensual; be it breaking a lump of dry earth and letting it slowly run through my fingers or kneading a claggy sod of clay-heavy soil. The digging and breaking soil with one’s hands is an activity that is as old as cultivation and which in turn is a key element in human evolution. As a kid I could often be found, arse up with my head down a hole removing handfuls of earth as I dug deeper. I was an avid hole digger and I was thankfully given the freedom to dig in our back garden by my parents. I have an appreciation of good soil.

Sunday saw me on the Norfolk Broads crewing on a Wherry. I love boats. I always have. It stems from my love of water. River, lake or sea, I love a watery environment. The sound of water lapping on a shore or a riverbank is most efficacious indeed. Deserted waterlines can facilitate meditation. I find I can lose myself in such situations. Blend into my surroundings. Sometimes I think how nice it would be to be the only human left. Only nature for company. The feel of water flowing through my fingers is quite sensual. Spume and spray in one’s face can be quite refreshing. Water brings life but can also be a cruel mistress, bringing death and destruction. Water needs much respect. I suppose it’s part of being born and raised in the British Isles as I love looking out to sea. There’s hope, expectation and mystery wrapped up in this activity of gazing into the distance. I dream of being on a desert island, but the dream turns into a nightmare when I try to decide which eight records to choose. Only eight!

I love fresh air, in its rightful place of course. Sea air is especially joyous. Or a gobbing great lungful of country air on an isolated walk. I feel so alive feeling the wind in my face when on a boat or standing on raised ground; a feeling of cobwebs being blown away. Sweet smelling fresh air cleanses and makes one feel good to be alive.

There is something quite primitive about staring into flames. I’ve always enjoyed a log fire or a good bonfire. The warmth and comfort they offer in the cold of winter brings succour to the soul. Watching the flames dance and feeling the heat on my face and hands can be most mesmerising. The striking of a match provides a short burst of instant gratification. Toast made on an open fire always tastes particularly good. It is the taste of childhood and dark winter evenings. The fire was the focal point in the family home, sadly now replaced by the idiot box; the flames providing colour images in the days of black and white telly.

So the ancient Greeks may not have got the science quite right but they knew a thing or two about the human condition and how we bond with their ‘elements’.