What is your intention?
Today I want to say something about a common belief among teachers of art, especially at a tertiary level. Students are often not only encouraged but required to write something about their work, sometimes in advance of its production i.e. a statement about their intention.
I don’t know where this practice comes from but I don’t believe in it. Often the statements are extravagant in both their language and their claims. We’ve all seen them in catalogues, and on exhibition walls although I won’t go so far as to say that we’ve all read them.
Frequently the artist’s statements are spiced up with quotes, Baudrillard is a favourite. Derrida too, of course.
Until recently I used to think that having students write these was a harmless if irritating and useless practice, but no more than that. Recently I have come to shift my opinion. I believe that it may actually be damaging to the creative process, that it may create static and interfere with the welling up of an art work into one’s consciousness. Like talking too much about the content of a novel that you are writing instead of just quietly getting on with it and letting it develop a life of its own, a life which may go in surprising directions. If I were a teacher I would discourage the practice, possibly even try to stamp it out, but then art teachers in New Zealand frequently follow it themselves, they have after all, commonly come through the same art schools, the same orthodoxy.
I’ll finish with one of my favourite quotes, this one from Groucho Marx. “Art is art, isn’t it? And water is water and east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like apple-sauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.”
Life
For the last few weeks I’ve been so busy with all the showbiz associated with launching my new book that I have become very weary and unable to concentrate on other issues such as maintaining this journal.
Now that I am back in Alexandra in the sanctuary of this three and a half acres of wild garden my spirits will, I hope, be restored, my heart strengthened. The lilac are in bloom, the peonies not far behind. They give me solace.
Albino Hare
Here’s a coincidence. Last night I stayed with friends who live in a most interesting house on several beautiful acres just out of Alexandra. it was clear that their land, like much of this region, has a severe infestation of rabbits. Rabbits have changed this landscape, nibbling plants so close to the ground that when the wind blows the topsoil is carried away forever.
Jazz, their cat, caught a young rabbit last night before our very eyes as we sat, alfresco, sampling some of the wine that this region is famous for. It was a gruesome yet riveting sight. I took out my camera but couldn’t find a photo in it.
This morning when I got up, rather late by my standards, there was Jazz with yet another young rabbit laid alongside the previous night’s kill. Again I couldn’t find a photo, I found it hard to watch as she gnawed away at the victim’s neck.
Later this afternoon, three friends from Nelson turned up here at Henderson House. As always, it was a delight to see them. As they were leaving, Tim said that a few days ago they had bought something that he thought that could be interested in. Disappearing into their caravan he emerged with this stuffed albino hare. I took one snap of it. It could be a keeper.
The Hounds of the Lord
A few days ago I was in Dunedin, two and a quarter hours drive away. I could live in Dunedin. I love university towns but unfortunately it is the only city in New Zealand that has this quality. Students bring so much texture to a culture.
Dunedin’s architecture is so intact, relatively anyway. It’s a joy to wander around to gaze in awe.
This is a Dominican convent, now empty. (Sorry about the vehicles, especially the SUV) When I was a young man and not too mature I lived for two years in Aquinas Hall in Dunedin, a Dominican run university hostel. I used to go to Mass most days.
In those days I was a believer, in fact I was a fervent Catholic. Hard to believe now especially that I understand more about how Dominicans were are at the forefront of book burning and torture during The Inquisition. Savonarola was a Dominican hero. I’m sorry to say that I am glad that he got his comeuppance one day in Florence when he was hanged and burned. (Some records say that the hanging bit was skipped.) Below is a photo of where it happened.
However this will soon change because at Clyde, a lovely little historic town less than ten minutes drive away, a 50 seat theatre is under construction. A boutique theatre, just like the one in Arrowtown it will have an attached cafe.
Problem is that it is progressing quite slowly and by the time that it is ready my time here will probably be up and I will be returning to the North Island.
Spring in Alexandra
This area is famous for its spring display, in fact there is even a blossom festival held here every year. At present a vivid green is appearing on many of the trees.
I am trying to photograph blossom, but once again, as with autumn colour, it’s a well trodden track and very hard to find something original to say about it.
This view is from my bedroom window.