Category: Thoughts on Art

“In the process of creating, meaning will emerge.”

William Kentridge

One thing that is quite apparent is that there is not so much of a demand for mud and barbed wire in the home (not many sofas are made of mud).

Visual notes of a thing that could be matched with a sofa:

It is well that I have a salary (“Those who can do, do [rage spit, rage, spew, vomit, ire, more rage], those who can’t, etc.etc. [fury, scream, more violent rage]), thus preclude myself from the “starving artist” identity. I suppose in the minds of many romantics, that is just wrong. I betrayed the cause. God forbid I ever went a step further and marketed my work. I can see that would be very slippery slope:

Income.
Posters.
Website.
Visual prostitution.

#justsaying

The land and its central role in Zimbabwean discourse of recent years seemed to force itself into my work, I think in a general sense, into the work of many contemporary artists. I had not named the various parts of the images as I wrote last week, and the interpretation of the images lacked specificity. A sort of transformation of ideas began to take place. In part, a need to start naming things, or using things with names (as opposed to shape and colour). I think I wanted to form my own ideas a little more clearly, and possibly communicate them more directly.

As with all artistic endeavours, there are a multitude of interwoven strands from which one derives inspiration (so-called…). Like many who paint, I have always been fascinated by the effects of various media, and the possibilities of different surfaces. A student (a Form Two at the time), had crafted a wonderful torso out of aluminium sheeting. She offered me a roll which became a pivotal moment. After a few explorations, I produced the work “Corona”. In that period of a few days/weeks, a relatively brief moment, it brought together numerous ideas and opened possibilities for using particular media and items as a means of figuration.

What was of immediate interest was that in the way the veneer and wound from before had become torn surface/land, the representation of the wound had become a literal gash, so too had the representation of land, become actual soil. There were many who found a link between the barbed wire and the extremely violent assault that my family and I endured at that time. In my mind this link was not written, but the related idea of defining and identifying territories as well as the land as object (manipulated in the extreme, as had occurred in this country for over 100 years) began to emerge.

What ensued was a series of works that has continued to the present. They have engaged with our claim on resources, our position in relation to these and their central role in numerous narratives during recent years. I shall not attempt a retrospective of my work, that is really not the point, but will mention two works below:

“Hondo” was part of “Sound to Form” exhibition, in which artists responded to various musical works. You can read about my thoughts relating to this work here: http://gregshawzw.tumblr.com/post/54609389484/sound-to-form and can find the music that inspired this work here: http://gregshawzw.tumblr.com/post/55858679181/the-source-of-my-work-below-by-the-renowned-hope (posted with the permission of the renowned Hope Masike). “The Frontier” was produced for “Terra II” at the Gallery Delta.

Which brings me to the present. Almost. In 2012, the first Art/Artefact exhibition was mounted at Gallery Delta. Contemporary artists were invited to respond to object d’art from around the continent. Foremost in my mind at the time was the process of re-contextualising what are primarily functional objects. I chose to work with the Tonga door, in itself a beautifully designed, functional object. My response mimicked the form, though obviously non-functional it hopefully brought into question concepts of claims made on territories and the means in which we defend and define them.

Art/Artefact II is currently showing Gallery Delta. My response for this exhibition has been to a Giriama Funerary Post. You can find a short blurb about that object on my Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=1038223032886843&id=299747193401101. As with many artistic endeavours, the motif that runs through the work came about partly through luck, in that the wooden sections were originally conceived as moulds, as seen in the studio shots below. How often it happens that unintentional moves reveal moments of discovery.

I began this post (Part 1) thinking about characteristics of charcoal. Though I have loved the aesthetic aspects of the substance, one particular quality that is paramount, especially in relation to the funerary post; more so in relation to this extraordinary land: Charcoal has been burnt, it is reduced to a substance that has the ability to be kindled: it embodies, it is potential.

OBSERVATIONS

1. In order to form charcoal bricks, very little moisture is required. A texture like very dry pastry seemed to provide the best results. Drying a brick sized block took more than three weeks.
2. The work “Corona” was exhibited on the “Colour Africa II” exhibition in Munich. In my records it belongs to Suzie Gliemann of Harare, a long standing supporter and patron of my work.
3.  According to UN (https://www.newsday.co.zw/2015/09/25/zim-maintains-africa-education-flagship-tag-un/), “Despite the social challenges of the last decade, Zimbabwe has not only met the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) regarding access to primary education, but also remains Africa’s flagship.”

Studio One
Though the deadline day for the Form Four coursework was not without a significant measure  stress, they all made the submission date. The marking of it is a significant task in which myself and three colleagues collaborate: We have clocked up about 10 hours this week. There has been a slight lull after the effort, though their examination is now 14 days away.

I took the Lower VI to the Delta to see the exhibition and draw from the artefacts. They are a demented group. Though I am generally slightly on edge, apprehensive about what may transpire at any given moment, they are lively and entertaining.

This interesting mixed media (iPad/Collage) work is by Oliver Harvey. Though it would not seem so, he is one of the more sane amongst them.

Greg Shaw 26 September 2015.

This is a wire dressmaker’s dummy. Difficult to portray, possibly hard to make out from the study. A simultaneously complex and simple object; very distinctive. Perhaps it is familiar to some, had I drawn it in colour, it would be instantly recognized by many who went through the studio of the extraordinary painter, Helen Lieros.

I left school one month prior to turning 16. I was as mature as your average individual male of that age (so mentally, about 10 years old). I had no intention of ever returning, a prospect which was surely as appealing to the administrators and teachers of my school, as it was to me. Through sheer disinterest, I had maintained a spectacularly average standard in every subject. Though I had taken the Woodwork subject choice, I had written O’ Level Art. I was a reasonably able draughtsman, and by default, settled on a career of Graphic Design (“default” in this case meaning I had absolutely no other options).
Perhaps through sheer goodwill, I was accepted into the Harare Polytechnic Graphic Art and Design programme. This was a superb course, with legendary lecturers, many who have taught some of the finest artists of every field in this country, and many of prestige beyond these borders.

It took approximately 90 days before I was asked to leave.
(I shall not overdo the drama at this juncture. In this country, policies are often malleable, and once again by sheer goodwill, or in truth, by virtue of one who had accompanied my exit, and his particular relations, I was once again re-instated. I did eventually mature, and did graduate well, and had the privilege of learning from some of the most extraordinary teachers I have ever encountered. But that has nothing to do with this drawing.)

Thus, now 16, sans-education, sans-career options, sans-life ambition, I found my way to the studio of artist and teacher Helen Lieros. This was unequivocally a turning point. It is through sheer luck and good fortune that an individual encounters a teacher or mentor that can make a fundamental change, or influence or impact one’s life. It is a rare occurrence that some of us are privileged to experience, as I did at this time.

In this studio we drew. And drew, and drew and drew. And we painted, and some of us matured. Amidst us, were those who had burnt out all conventional options and gathered there, and fed off the extraordinary rich, deep environment. Some of us were nurtured, as I was, and found some purpose. We gained strength form the energy of the studio, from each other, and from the driving force at the centre, that was the artist, Helen Lieros.
Although the studio was accessible through the entrance of the main college with which it was associated, initiates never entered there. The real entrance was via the sanitary lane, past the refuse, employees car park, the quarters of the cleaning staff, and through the small door, which was located around the corner of a mural clad alleyway.
The studio was an abandoned kitchen, of institutional variety. At one end a cold room, with a shoulder thick door acted as an auxiliary store room. There was a curious L shape enclave at each end; the West end space housed a small etching press (only the elite amongst us ever touched it), and at the Eastern side the kettle, tea, single plate stove, on which we cooked our beans, and from which the patrons of the artists received their “Greek” coffee, brewed by the sure hand of our mentor.
Although there were some larger windows at the Western end, there was no view to speak of. Along the side of the room was a bank of ovens, now strange, dark cupboard like features and a countertop which carried the collection of extraordinary items and objects that had been hoarded for numerous years.
Amidst these objects was this dressmaker’s dummy. Now that I have mentioned the context, I know that there are many who now know this figure. It appeared often in still lives, in surrealistic paintings. It was a constant, a default symbol, versatile in possible iconographic expressions. It was embedded in our minds.
That studio closed in about 1993. It signified the end of an era. The end of an extraordinary creative streak that ran through some Harare secondary school and pre-university art students, those who would never enter formal education, and those so would return and contribute to the energy of that place.
In 2012, in a radically different period of life, I stood as the Head of Art and the Hellenic Academy, opening the fist exhibition of the new art studios, “Blueprint”. It goes without saying that my mentor, Helen was present. Without that history, this present would not exist. She had with her a parcel, newsprint wrapped, large, lightweight, a present for me.
As you have surely surmised, it was the wonderful figure of the dressmaker’s dummy. Figure from my chequered history, old friend long past, somehow ever-present.
I have no idea how many times I have drawn that figure; in how many paintings it has appeared. It is not easy to portray, it does not lend itself to visual expression. Nevertheless, it remains for me a symbol, a thread from what now appears as childhood, from my early explorations of visual arts, of a world outside of conventions, a world just a little bit toward the edge.
Today our A level students began their examination. It pleases me that my students were in the presence of that figure. They have no concept of its significance to me, nor, I suspect, would they find any aesthetic or conceptual value in that object.
But I like to think there is some continuity, whether it is possible to note or deduce actual consequences or not.
It shall remain to me, a curious, significant object.