A
third day of indifferent weather – something that should be of supreme
indifference given what is happening in the world today, but in the confined
‘world’ that one inhabits at present, something that is of irritating
importance.
The daily morning tasks being completed
(up to and including the Guardian ‘quick’ crossword) it was a pleasant surprise
to have a phone call from a Cardiff friend, Hadyn, informing me that he had
purchased one of Ceri Auckland Davies’s
paintings in a recent auction. This
hawthorn is one from a series Ceri painted of trees in bloom, and a good
choice! The tree fills the picture space
and is set against a moody sky-filled background rising from a low horizon – a
dramatic and lively painting.
From where I sit typing I can see two more
examples of Ceri’s work: an atmospheric print of a night view of a lamp lit
façade of a Venetian palazzo
painted in a freer style than the meticulous detailed manner that he usually
adopts, and a large charcoal drawing of a rock cleft in which the
quasi-abstract depiction of the faceted rock face encourages pareidolia in a
busy surface that always engages my attention as it is directly opposite where
I usually sit.
As a striking contrast to the
‘face-filled’ rocks, the focus of attention is nothing. Literally nothing, whiteness, blankness. The far opening of the rock cleft is onto sea
or sky and that is a patch of vibrant white, unworked and blank whereas all
around it is the detail of charcoal sketching.
I am endlessly fascinated by this work
and, like the best Giles cartoons (and that is a signal honour of comparison from me!) there is always something new to find in the detail of the
draftmanship and the juxtaposition of light and shade. Each time I look at it, I highlight different
sections and let my eye slide through the confined landscape in alternative
ways.
What has all of that to do with the
current crisis? Everything.
Our lives have been thrown into total confusion;
the economy of the world is in free-fall; our individual freedoms are being
compromised; millions are being forced into greater poverty; domestic violence
is on the rise; we are being turned into ourselves, a forced introspection; and
survival, for most of us in the wealthy west, usually a concept rather than an
ever present threat, has now become visible, palpable struggle. It is exactly at times like these that one
needs to consider the worth of a painted tree!
It used to be said that a society could be
judged by how it treats the poorest and least advantaged in a community: the
disabled, the imprisoned, the dispossessed, the mentally ill, the criminal, the
refugee, the old, the homeless etc. The
point being made is that it is easy to look after those who are already able
and keen to look after themselves, but what about the others? In the same way, bare survival is obviously
essential, but we must, we have to be concerned with the quality of survival as
well. It is to the everlasting credit of
the wartime government in Britain that, at the same time that it was struggling
to keep the effort to free the world of the threat of fascism, it was also
working to ensure that there were clear plans for the betterment of society
after the conflict was ended. The 1944
Education Act was a gesture, no, much more than a gesture, of defiance and
belief that something positive must come from something so negative.
The Arts in all their forms are the way
that quality of life can be guaranteed, in a way they encourage us to believe
that there is something beyond mere survival.
I am not so idealistic that I believe that
a painting, or piece of music, or a good book; a well composed photograph or a
well directed film are protection against the vicissitudes of this world,
especially when they come in microscopic form, but I do think that the creative
arts are there to make the struggle to survive worth it and they do, sometimes,
provide the solace to make it bearable.
That all sounds much more apocalyptic than
I meant it to sound: I am warm, comfortable and well fed; I am protected from
the elements and media to amuse myself surrounds me; I can write and I can
speak. My ‘prison’ is well appointed and
I can take exercise outside the walls (just); I can contact friends and read
about others; I am freely confined!
And yet, especially in a country when the
death rate is rising day on day I do appreciate that I am of an age group where
my continued life is dependent on my adhering strictly to governmental
guidelines and the following of those guidelines by others around me. For almost the first time in my life, I am
directly threatened by a very present moral enemy.
But, having talked myself into a state of
sombre seriousness and existential angst, I can get out of it by merely (and
that word is surely justified here because of the ease with which I can do it)
looking at a painting, reading a book, listening to a piece of music.
And, as far as looking at paintings are
concerned, my emails have been filled with various institutions urging me to
take a virtual tour or plunge into the catalogues and explore the
holdings. Galleries around the world are
offering lectures and guides; things to do; things to make; ways to get
involved. Opera companies are offering
performances streamed on their sites; books are being electronically offered –
to say nothing of the television shows and films that are freely available on
line.
Now is the time to explore, to take a whim
and see how far you go and where you end up.
So much is available and only for the cost of the electricity that
drives your Internet access.
When arid introspection threatens; the
digital world is available!
