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.
Photograph of a photocopy of 3 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
Photograph of a photocopy of 3 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
Photograph of a photocopy of 2 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands. Photograph of a photocopy of 3 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
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.
Photograph of a photocopy of 2 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
Photograph of a photocopy of 3 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
Photograph of a photocopy of 3 superimposed drawings of Politburo members. Taken from the picture book, ‘Russia from the Inside’, by Robert Kaiser and Hannah Jopling Kaiser. The photocopies were initially sellotaped on the window of my house in Leiden, the Netherlands.
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.
The curator found this photocopy in his coat pocket after a night out in Blackburn, Lancashire. Mid 1990s. Given its unknown provenance this slip of paper must be a contender for the most forlorn wish never granted.
Photocopy of a fairly perfunctory pencil sketch of a photograph of a woman sitting on a designer couch. Image taken from a glossy magazine. Imagine if this image was the sole remnant of how we lived in the 2000’s. The silent, unseeing mystery pointing towards the void, akin to looking at a painted sarcophagus.
Photograph of a sketch in byro and felt tip and pencil. The subjects of the drawing are diverse. One is from an advert promoting one of the many devices of the “Nokia Years” (aka early internet, pre-smartphone era) where modern people needed a whole array of digital aides to go about their business. The other is from a photocopy of a famous photograph of three girls crossing a road in Amsterdam in 1970. The (almost brazen) sense of nothingness of this image whispers something to me about the Netherlands. I’m not sure what.
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!
A photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of a print work showing pop star Justin Bieber moonlighting as Napoleon crossing the Alps. The image was seen at a show in Rotterdam. The main interest for the curator was the reflection of the strip-light which added a great deal of drama to the original. The photograph is taken at a deliberately rakish angle which adds further (in the curator’s opinion ) to the image’s presence.
Photograph of a detail of a work from the exhibition, “Hold on to the Paper”, Rotterdam, 2017. The image (suitably apocalyptic and “recreated” by the curator’s friend Paul) shows old drawings and scraps and photocopies from the curator’s collection.
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.
Photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of a detail of a work from the exhibition, “Hold on to the Paper”, Rotterdam, June 2017. The image (suitably apocalyptic and recreated by the curator’s friend Paul) shows old drawings and scraps and photocopies from the curator’s collection. Pleasingly, this image in particular looks like the plate from an old book on art history.
Photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of a detail of a work from the exhibition, “Hold on to the Paper”, Rotterdam, June 2017. The image (suitably apocalyptic and recreated by the curator’s friend Paul) shows old drawings and scraps and photocopies from the curator’s collection. The curator found he had an inordinate amount of petcare mail order catalogues from the 1990s in his collection.
Photograph of a photocopy of a dip pen and ink drawing showing an East African soldier from the First World War, an Askari, holding a modern tablet. Drawn in 2013 or thereabouts, the curator thinks this drawing symptomatic of his Leiden bubble.
There is a peculiar shade of blue that pervades certain parts of Accrington. Not always seen, it can nevertheless be sensed as a strong visual memory over long periods of time and sometimes in other places, far removed from this former manufacturing town in East Lancashire.
Memories can be cut out and rearranged. But that doesn’t make them better or any easier to grasp. Looking at these three new additions to the museum, the curator can’t help but wonder what binds them outside of his own random attempts at fusing or displaying memory. Maybe not even that. Maybe they should be pondered in silence, without recourse to thought.
Photograph of a letter from an ex-University friend, circa 1993. A lot of letters from that period were full of such declamations and anecdotes. And the actions of the writers always seemed full of adventure, wit and brio; totally at odds with the curator’s Accrington sojourn.
Photograph of a collage of a colour photocopy of a photograph of a mysterious duckboarded path on Ilkley Moor, West Yorks. The pen and ink graffito is a typical response from Richard the Photocopier when presented by such a visual prospect.
Photograph of two photocopies set side by side. One is a collage made out of newsprint, ink, pencil and tracing paper. The other a photocopy of a pencil drawing of the curator’s father in January 1970. The Photocopier’s father always wore stylish (if not trendy) clothes for the (aspirant) working/lower middle orders in the period.
There is a peculiar shade of blue that pervades certain parts of Accrington. Not always seen, it can nevertheless be sensed as a strong visual memory over long periods of time and sometimes in other places, far removed from this former manufacturing town in East Lancashire. The blue can be put to various uses. In modern parlance, it is a “positive” force. And the curator invoked it to solve, or put to bed a number long-standing obsessions that seemed only to muddy the waters during the indeterminate early 2000s.
Photograph of a colour photocopy of a drawing using dip pen and ink and coloured ink wash. Richard the Photocopier drew a number of these preparatory, private sketches in the early 2000s, in a bid to rid himself of Slav, Teutonic and Finno-Ugric folkloric images that had pursued him – to very little purpose – from a very early age.
Photograph of a colour photocopy of a collage comprising two drawings, using mixed media. The images were inspired by a book on ethnic Hungarian costume found in the Museum of Ethnography (Néprajzi Múzeum), Budapest 2003.
Photograph of a damaged colour photocopy of a black and white drawing using dip pen and ink of various ethnic Hungarian folk costumes. Date, 2004. Coloured ink was applied to the photocopy by the curator immediately prior to photographing it.
There is a peculiar shade of blue that pervades certain parts of Accrington. Not always seen, it can nevertheless be sensed as a strong visual memory over long periods of time and sometimes in other places, far removed from this former manufacturing town in East Lancashire. The blue can be put to various uses. In modern parlance, it is a “positive” force. And the curator invoked it at various times during that strangest of decades, the 1990s.
A photograph of a colour print of a photograph of model aeroplanes found in a photo studios in Bury, Lancs, around 1996. One of the more peculiar images in the museum, the curator can’t think why he commissioned this photograph to be taken. It may point to the lack of interesting creative ideas running around in the UK during the mid 1990s. The print has spent the last 20 years in a portfolio.
Photograph of a print of 4 small drawings depicting the fruits of Richard the Photocopier’s imagination. Drawn around 1998 during a period of great tumult in his private life, the drawings also show the influence of too much Robert Graves. The original drawings were posted to the singer of Super Furry Animals.
A photograph of a damaged colour photocopy of a black and white drawing in dip pen and ink. Coloured ink added by the curator at a later date. The image was originally found in the prospectus of St Martin’s College, London, circa 1992. The curator valued it for its obvious satirical qualities. But, unwittingly, the image also replicated some unspoken desires. To escape Accrington, and to “be” an artist.
Sometimes you can see a peculiar kind of blue in Accrington. You can normally see it when the sun goes down behind the hill where the former NORI brickworks use to be. (It’s now a new housing estate.) The afterglow spreads over Accrington Stanley’s ground, and then casts a peculiar blue green light into the back room of my parents’ house.
In the very early 1990s, on the dole and living back at my parents’ in Accrington, I began to draw and write in earnest, and in secret. I thought of applying to St Martins’, but couldn’t be arsed. The post ERM crash suited me. No jobs worth having in East Lancashire. Still: I needed a counterpoint to my friends’ exciting lives in dreamlike places like Bedford, Lutterworth or Chalfont St Peter. And, around 1993, London, where my more urbane mates ended up. I started to draw what it would be like to, you know, go there.
Then I would go to the corner shop and buy 4 cans of Trent Mild, and mixed salt and vinegar peanuts and salted crisps, and read the Acccrington Observer letters page and listen to BBC Radio 4.
The past is my playground.
Photograph of a handmade, typically artsy postcard received from a Lancashire friend then residing in Bedford who had a job and was about to marry and buy a house. Note the postmark smear, meaning at least one enlightened Royal Mail employee working in the South East.
Photograph of two collages using photocopies and newsprint, created around 1992-3 in Accrington. The words are moot for the time: “Lonely” and “Bugger Off”.
Photograph of a colour photocopy of a black and white dip pen drawing originally created for a London friend’s band’s LP cover. Date: 2002. However the drawing evokes a much earlier time, that of going to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, London in 1992-3, to both waste time and save money. Digitally messed about with by Richard the Photocopier in a misguided attempt to “get into” digital art and to evoke the Accrington blue.
Sometimes you can see a peculiar kind of blue in Accrington. You can normally see it when the sun goes down behind the hill where the former NORI brickworks use to be. (It’s now a new housing estate.) The afterglow spreads over Accrington Stanley’s ground, and then casts a peculiar blue green light into the back room of my parents’ house.
I still find it a remarkable light, something I haven’t seen anywhere else. I always found its appearance a very hopeful sign and – like the two Haitian angel/devil tin cats hanging on my wall – still draw on its presence.
In the very early 1990s, when I left Felling, I spent some time living back at my parents. Sometimes letters from friends, (whose lives seemed to be far more exciting, or at least much more dramatically, entertainingly, boring than mine) would summon up this blue light. Places like Bedford, Lutterworth or Chesterfield, Aberystwyth or Chalfont St Peter loomed large in the imagination. And, around 1993, London. A place seen only three times previously. And then in passing. I began to draw what London would be like, if I ever went.
The 1990s, where letters would stop and start amidships, beached by thoughts or sudden displays of emotion. A time when the World of Word Processor leaned like a sinister uncle over your shoulder.
The past is my playground.
Photograph of a letter the curator received from a university friend, describing work in Chesterfield around 1991. Note the postmodern socio-cultural reference – once the preserve of wits in the immediate post-Thatcherite landscape – that became (overbearingly) ubiquitous later in the decade.
Photocopy of a letter from 1993 from a London friend. Additional marks have been made digitally by the curator to highlight the word, “word processor”.
Photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of one of the Twelve Apostles on Ilkley Moor, West Yorkshire, and a letter (in post-it-note form from a Newcastle friend, then living in London). The curator’s influence back then is revealed as exhorting his friends to read “Lucky Jim” (1954), by the writer, Kingsley Amis.
