Post Ides Idling #2 2018

These are photographs that I wanted to make into photocopies, but didn’t. Not because of their suitability or otherwise as I’m not sure whether the concept of suitability, as such, plays any part in this particular reproductive process. I still think that the grey furze of the photocopied image does to some extent replicate the film between your sight and inner sight. In that respect anything photocopied (in effect performing the act of taking one step away) brings us one step closer to understanding something.

But sometimes the time between the photograph, or drawing, or the discovery of the objet trouvé, takes time to determine. In this series of posts I also wanted to show you what East Lancashire looks like in winter from the top of a bus. I have one complaint about these buses and that is they are too warm. The heating is always on ridiculously high.

Post Ides Idling 2018

These are photographs that I wanted to make into photocopies, but didn’t. Not because of their suitability or otherwise as I’m not sure whether the concept of suitability, as such, plays any part in this particular reproductive process. I still think that the grey furze of the photocopied image does to some extent replicate the film between your sight and inner sight. In that respect anything photocopied (in effect performing the act of taking one step away) brings us one step closer to understanding something.

But sometimes the time between the photograph, or drawing, or the discovery of the objet trouvé, takes time to determine. In this series of posts I also wanted to show you what East Lancashire looks like in winter from the top of a bus. I’ve had many an adventure on the bus to Manchester, and heard lots of stories, like “what would die first in a desert, a rat, or a camel?”

Who can tell?

Time doing nothing is not time wasted. (Georges Remi).

Post-Ides Reopening – 2018

The Museum is now open as the end of winter reckoning has taken place and whatever debts we thought we had have been paid to no-one. How tiresome the world is at present. Maybe we should all indulge in a private, personal version of Pharmakon. In silence. The Museum is here for you, as a place to escape, a digital milk bar, worshiping the healing power, and bounty, of  paper.

Accrington Red Brick Coalbunker Interzone #2

I have strong memories of mucking about in the grate of the new house we moved into in 1972. The grate – where water from the kitchen would collect – was a constant source of fascination.  Staring at the ripples of water would induce a trance-like state. Airfix soldiers would drown, and my brightly coloured, too-light all-purpose play-ball would inevitably find its way there.

Recently, some kind of time-bubble opened up and I found myself repeatedly sketching the bricks of the kitchen wall by memory, or doodling from old photographs of myself in my favoured interzone, the patch between the coal bunker, the backdoor and the grate. How soothing Accrington’s red brick is, able to withstand the warm, benevolent Lancastrian gloaming, damp and accumulated industrial filth, able to stand out alongside the blackened, blasted sandstone.

Tomatoes #3

I used to like going to the Columba Club or Felling WMC in Felling, with my granda in the very late 1980s/very early 1990s when I studied at the university of Newcastle upon Tyne. We’d sometimes got to the allotment beforehand to get some tomatoes from the greenhouse. I remember one night when my granda celebrated 60 years in the Labour party; 1932-1992. Labour Chief Whip Derek Foster came. No relation to the curator.

These photocopies of multiple drawings of Politburo members (including – I think – Gorbachev, Andropov, Chernenko and Gromyko) somehow bring to mind the club members. I don’t want to speculate too much about any political similarities or sympathies. It was both a different world and looking at a different world, back then.

Tomatoes #2

I used to like going to the Columba Club or Felling WMC in Felling, with my granda in the very late 1980s/very early 1990s when I studied at the university of Newcastle upon Tyne. We’d sometimes got to the allotment beforehand to get some tomatoes from the greenhouse. I found myself in demand on quiz nights at the clubs. I’d normally be expected to supply answers to questions relating to popular culture. Beat music, fashions, that kind of thing.

These photocopies of multiple drawings of Politburo members (including – I think – Gorbachev, Andropov, Chernenko and Gromyko) somehow bring to mind the club members. I don’t want to speculate too much about any political similarities or sympathies. It was both a different world and looking at a different world, back then.

Tomatoes #1

I used to like going to the Columba Club or Felling WMC in Felling, with my granda in the very late 1980s/very early 1990s when I studied at the university of Newcastle upon Tyne. We’d sometimes got to the allotment beforehand to get some tomatoes from the greenhouse.

These photocopies of multiple drawings of Politburo members (including – I think – Gorbachev, Andropov, Chernenko and Gromyko) somehow bring to mind the club members. I don’t want to speculate too much about any political similarities or sympathies. It was both a different world and looking at a different world, back then.

Bubbles #3

Sometimes I think my life, especially that part of my life I have spent living in the Netherlands is akin to being stuck in a bubble. Or sitting in a greenhouse floating through an endless void. Of course, both situations have their advantages.

Bubbles #2

Life seems to be led in a bubble of our own current fancies. This is true of the Netherlands where I live, where my longstanding obsession with images of the descent from the cross and the last judgment are often put politely to one side.

Over the summer, I decided to throw out all my old papers and photocopies and paintings. My friends Paul and Dan rearranged them for me and added their own mark. The resulting works were shown – and remained – in Rotterdam.

The three new works somehow managed to have an air of the Baroque, and Northern Renaissance images I have long admired. Details of two are shown here in black and white and colour. A third piece is the result of a happy accident born of mild annoyance at the original work, an irrelevant, insouciant circumstance that this otherwise quiet country often throws up. Ah, vanitas, vanitas!

Bubbles #1

Life seems to be led in a bubble of our own current fancies. This is true in the Netherlands, where I live, where my longstanding obsession with images of the descent from the cross and the last judgment are often put politely to one side.

Over the summer, I decided to throw out all my old papers and photocopies and paintings. My friends Paul and Dan rearranged them for me and added their own mark. The resulting works were shown – and remained – in Rotterdam.

The three new works somehow managed to have an air of the Baroque, and Northern Renaissance images I have long admired. Details of two are shown here in black and white. I wonder what’s going to happen when giving answers to everything stops being a going concern.