Number 26 to Elsewhere

I am very excited that my piece, End of the Line,  has been published on the blog of the Elsewhere: A Journal of Place. 

It tells the tale of a rather unusual bus journey to the end of the line in Edinburgh, a discovery of an industrial museum, witness to centuries of change and my own transition in moving to a new city and country. 

'Elsewhere is a journal dedicated to writing and visual art that explores the idea of place in all of its forms, whether city neighbourhoods or island communities, heartlands or borderlands, the world we see before us or landscapes of the imagination.'

I have been a fan of the Elsewhere for quite some time, enamoured of the print journal's beautiful design and illustration by Creative Director, Julia Stone, and impressed by the photo essays and high quality writing, selected by Editor in Chief, Paul Scraton. The latest issue, no.4, is available here. 

Sagrada Familia, Stained Glass and Selfie Sticks

I am not a religious person, but still when I walk into a church I expect to feel a sense of reverence. Although architecturally fantastic, the atmosphere of the Sagrada Familia was, somehow, inexplicably dead. I couldn't feel the mystery that surely should be part of the religious experience. Everything was wonderfully and colourfully lit. Illuminated plastic looking transparent nodes on columns blinked down at me like compound insect eyes. There were organic flourishes and details and, looking skywards, the columns grew like a forest canopy. 

Perhaps it was the hordes of tourists (including myself) in the church and the din of the ongoing building works (the church will take another 40 years to complete) that had displaced any atmosphere of religious feeling. In fact a sign recommended worshipers go down to the  chapel in the crypt where they could pray in quiet and contemplation.

I sat down on one of the stone benches lining the edge of the church and instinctively began to take out of focus images of stained glass windows and became more and more carried away until I was in a kind of trance. I think I was trying to recreate the mystery that I felt was absent in the church but soon my pictures became more and more about integrating the tourists into the pictures.

I have been fascinated by tourists and their rituals for a while. The tourists were involved in a ritual of taking selfies, almost religiously. They were unified in a common gesture, not of hands held together in prayer, rather holding the arm gracefully curved and aloft, cupped around the phone or wrapped around the selfie stick. I felt like an atheist to their cause, not having a selfie stick to hand to give blessing to our visit so that we may be granted eternal virtual life through our uploaded images on our social media pages. As a  ritual, it is perhaps profane in its self worship, but nevertheless still a ritual which responds to the fragility of being a human with an expiry date.

I found this vista of the Sagrada Familia (see last photo) where building is still underway and cranes were sweeping through the sky to be the most arresting part of my visit. "Why shouldn't a crane be as uplifting spiritually as a church spire?" says Momus in a piece on the industrial area of Osaka docks in Japan. You can make the pilgrimage to see the cranes at The Sagrada Familia until the building work is finished in 40 years and have your spiritual cake, and eat it.

Poet's Pub

This post is a speculative application to the current Falskkiosk Information Service of the Borås International Sculpture Biennial 2014 as an unpaid and absent intern.

This is a portrait of the famous Scottish Modernist Poet, Edwina Nacht, which hangs in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh. You may be forgiven for asking, well, where is she? I can't even see her?

Alexandra Tuffat, the artist, says she deliberately painted Nacht as a seemingly insignificant background figure:

‘You can hardly see her at first. I instinctively felt she belonged in the doorway on the right hand side of the picture. She is rather small in the frame, its true. I did this because in her poetry she always put marginal figures, such as male prostitutes, in the foreground of her work, just as I have done in this painting.’

The nine figures in the foreground of the painting are based on Nacht's prose portraits of well-known male prostitutes who frequented her favourite pub, which was in fact an amalgamation of all the pubs in Edinburgh.

As Tuffat recounts: ‘I remember evenings would end with a dog-fight breaking out amongst the men. I felt though I wanted to capture the dignity of the prostitutes in my painting, just like Nacht did in her poems. We both become personally affected by their stories; they were obviously past it.’

Alexandra Tuffat also wanted to capture Nacht’s working process:

‘To help her get into the zone of writing poetry, Nacht liked to slide down slopes in black patent leather heels. Hers is an intense watchful gaze, here she is clearly fascinated by the colourful clothes and colourful language of the male prostitutes. I remember it as if it was yesterday’

 

Sliding down slopes helped creative process    Detail 

This painting has serious implications for Edinburgh society of the '80s. Men, it seems, were often forced to socialise together in groups, drinking together, and had to discuss things intensely for hours. Women, however, could be on their own, were not forced to form any groups and didn’t have to discuss anything at all. This was one of the themes elaborated on time and again in Nacht’s work.

Alexandra Tuffat: ‘She was an amazing creative force, always encouraging men to isolate themselves, although it was not at all fashionable or acceptable at the time. Such outspoken views meant total inclusion for Nacht into artistic society; she would be included in absolutely everything, which just makes me feel so sad now to think of it, how much she suffered for her art, for her beliefs.’

A key to the 'Gents of the night', numbered from 1 to 9

More information about the painting is available here on the Scottish National Portrait Gallery website.

You Know You Know

"Hey, what do you think of the David Bowie single? Is this a subject due for exploration on Compartmentsee........?"

I do not normally respond to reader’s requests, partly because I haven’t had any yet. So I was thrilled when one of my long term readers, Louise, emailed me this with this request to explore the new David Bowie single, Where are we Now.

But as I am not a Bowie expert, reviewing this could prove to be difficult.

I turn to my friend Joe. Joe is my musical tastemaker. He supplies me with musical inspiration with his sublimely crafted compilations. If faced with a tricky music trivia question where my life depended on it, I know Joe would come through for me.

I send him a message on Facebook asking him what he thinks of the new single, to which he replies:

"I Love it and all of its Berlin references "

If he likes the song I know it will only be a matter of time, then, before I like it.

I first hear it premiered on early morning BBC Radio 4. I am trying to hear it over the general din of my kids having breakfast. (While my kids eat breakfast I am in the habit of dashing over and turning down BBC Radio 4 at the mention of rape, child abuse and serial killings. On some mornings I am up and down quite a bit, begging the question as to why we listen to it at all).

Bowie’s voice sounds all at once fragile,lamenting, haunting and haunted. It could break, it is old, but sings true and endures with powerful emotion to the end of the song.

I get up, this time not to protect my kids from the content of Radio 4 but to put my ear up close enough to the radio to hear the song at all. I have the feeling that a lot in my life is mediated in a way that is distracted, including friends and family, which is a terrifying thought.

The Today programme presenter perhaps wonders for a moment how to create the right mood with his voice to introduce the new song by David Bowie, that is being officially introduced to the world. The presenter, let’s call him Jon, is tired, beat. His children kept him up last night. He had a row with his wife. Reading the news everyday is getting him down. Is the world really so bad? Is it so terrible?  Let us imagine it for a minute his internal monologue as he hears the Bowie song he has just introduced:

Here comes Bowie, yeah yeah, and soon we will be back to financial news, wars and death. God I am tired. Bowie, you hit it on the nail, mate. This is how I feel. I should be reading the news as you are singing your song. Please God, give me the courage to read the news with your voice. This news is sad, and I want to remember or imagine a better time when there was hope. Your voice has a sadness to it, but in your voice there is also hope. You sing about Berlin, a city destroyed by bombs, divided by a wall, lives blighted by political circumstance. But you also sing about the constants in our lives, if we might just look for them. As long as there’s sun, as long as there’s rain, as long as there’s fire. Bloody poignant stuff, mate. You know it has really got me thinking about my wife and our row. The line, as long as there’s me, as long as there’s you. …..

Well. That was, “Where are we now?”  by David Bowie so let’s move on the financial markets……..

Don’t they know that I am dying inside? I met my wife when I was working as a correspondent In Berlin. God, what an exciting time that was, just as the wall was coming down! What a great fucking story that was!!!

On Facebook, I later see that Joe has 'liked' a cover version of David Bowie’s,Where Are We Now by musical experimenter and artist extraordinaire Momus. Clicking then onto the Momus website I discover that he is soon to play in Berlin in the district of Wedding, where I used to live!

Everything just seems to come together and I feel able to review the song. From Louise, to Joe, to BBC Radio 4, from Bowie, to Berlin, to Momus, to Wedding, it feels like the circle has closed. And all this via email, Facebook and the internet, without exchanging a single word with anyone.

So soon I will be returning to Berlin, with David Bowie’s lyrics ringing in my ears channeled through the medium of Momus. Or will I? The Momus concert is a secret gig, though advertised as taking place in Wedding. Curiously it may cost either 5 Euros or be free. 

The concert begins at 10pm but even if I don’t manage to find it I will be accompanied by a now familiar soundtrack as I wander around my old stamping ground reminiscing about what just might have been.

Where are we now?

Where are we now?

As long as you know

You know you know.

As long as there’s sun

As long as there’s sun

As long as there’s rain

As long as there’s rain

As long as there’s fire

As long as there’s fire

As long as there’s me

As long as there’s you

And I may not be in the know You know You know, but between Bowie and Momus and the city of Berlin, I do know what I can be grateful for.

Thanks are due to Mr Momus