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Harry Everington
1929-2000
It may be a
matter of amusing speculation to consider, in this context, not only the
development of the 'den' imagery into modem domestic architecture, but also the
contemporary disputes between the sexes. The images associated with the hunter,
the child-bearer and the den have had to adapt to so many changes in the course
of social evolution, that the stimulus of the associated symbols may give rise
to confusion. We cannot now be sure whether we are to start a family or buy the
products of commerce. In the context of our 'equality of the sexes' society, it
may be that the imagery of the 'fruit‑gathers' would be more relevant than
that of the 'hunter-den-maker'. The earliest making of images demonstrates an
elemental awareness of the conditions of living. The images replace and make
permanent the expressions of our bodies. We still express our reactions to life
and communicate our needs by the use of facial expression, sounds and body
language despite the sophistication of the spoken language. Alongside this the
language of form makes a representation of the awareness of life and draws for
vocabulary on all the previous phases in the history of human evolution.
Although, primarily, the created image is an extension and to some degree a
sublimation of 'what we are' it also serves to both stimulate and
over‑ride evolutionary instincts. "Fear" as an emotional
condition resulting from the need for self-preservation, may assume a less
commanding state by our being presented with the 'created' image of aggression.
Similarly in the idiom of sound the stimulating effects of Pipes and Drums are
well known where there is a need to "disguise fair nature in hard favoured
rage" Of a more permanent character, the 'artistic' shaping of a weapon may
eliminate all other considerations except its lethal application. The 'flick-knife'
with sensuous curved blade and ivory handle shaped to fit the palm has caused
more violence than the equally lethal cooking knife. Fertility imagery, derived
from the physiology of mating signals, may, in the context of an inhibited
society, revive the earlier 'drive' or may, if presented in a different way, be
used to inhibit fertility. The image
is the machinery of the imagination and the ability to conceive the image is the
unique tool of humankind. We have the means to chose which 'drive' will suit
which 'purpose' The ability to make permanent images, the ability to make
sculpture, gives us a will of our own. To determine by this means, our
direction, divides us from the evolution created animal, the imposition of our
evolution is taken into our own hands. To be aware, to perceive and then to
conceive. Unimpeded imagination is the freeing of the spirit from the body and
in prescribing for the imagination, the sculptor proposes the uniqueness of the
human species. Out of
Eden If we are
to search for the spirit of sculpture, we must discard any notion of progress in
terms of human intelligence. Rather, we should speculate on the implications of
change. The image‑making of earliest times gave rise to a way of recording
knowledge. The 'stock-piling' of knowledge may delude us into believing that we
have progressed, that knowledge is the criteria of ability and yet, without the
ability of language, even the smallest child can convey its needs and
demonstrate its awareness. It can communicate with facial expression, gesture
and, of course, noises. The child who left a hand-print on a cave wall 20,000
years ago might, if born into our age, become an airline pilot, computer
operator, watch television or even write books about sculpture. Sculpture is
made and understood without the stockpile of knowledge. It belongs to the area
of understanding which has no need of a learning process. The human being does
not have to be 'taught' to communicate although the 'how' to communicate may
intrude as a taught necessity in the idioms of sophisticated society. The spirit
of sculpture is an individual expression of our awareness yet it can be
comprehensible to all. Comprehension is inhibited only where a cultural
preconception, a learnt idiom, contaminates the direct output of creativity or
appreciation. Such is often the case, for instance, when photographic realism is
the cultural criteria and the viewer is presented with 'primitive' sculpture. To examine
further the true nature of sculpture, it might be helpful to remember our
earliest experience with a bright coloured, waxy crayon. First grasping it, then
turning it to view it in three dimensions, putting it in the mouth to taste and
smell it, hammering it on the table and finally grinding it round and round to
make a cake of colour. This sequence is the most basic enactment of
self‑expression resulting in a permanent image. The face of a child whilst
creating in this fashion, declares not only immense concentration but also
satisfaction. From this satisfaction, linked to fulfilment, stems the experience
of release. The spirit of self has been released from the demands and restraints
of the body, the impositions of parental will, the dressing and feeding, the
changing of nappies, the pulling along by the hand, the picking up and putting
down, all impinge on the child's self In the creative sequence with the crayon,
the child has discovered 'self and in so doing, has opened the door of awareness
to all other aspects of its life. A perspective for perception and comprehension
is achieved only when there is such a starting point. In the same
manner, stone age people in the British Isles found release from the imposition
of survival demands. One of the earliest manifestations of this newfound freedom
of their spirit was demonstrated when they discovered that they could transcend
the animal restrictions of eating, procreating and dying. With oval hard rocks,
ground smooth in a river bed; they hammered and ground hollow cup-forms in the
softer bedrock. In Ireland, Scotland and the northern Pennines these cup-forms
can be seen although it is many thousands of years since they were created.
These very simple expressions of the will to be creative were, with the
advancing complexity of social evolution, to become the ideographic basis of a
Celtic art form and subsequently the early Christian imagery of Northern Europe.
They are, in their simple motivation, amongst the most significant
demonstrations of the spirit of sculpture, comparable to the megalithic
monuments which, apart from hinting towards future architecture, became extinct.
I feel the need to comment at this point, that some perceptive sculptors of the
20th century have retrieved this simple motivation and found appropriate means
to express it. However I digress from hypothesis. The child
must enter into the culture of the world into which it was born. It must be
'taught' to communicate in a manner which is appropriate to the structure of the
specific society. The 'self must learn to conform for the convenience of the
community and use a language which is the common 'self expression. This
prescribed language is, of necessity, generalised and without the delicate
nuances, the deeper motivations and the passionate 'drive' so evident in
'childlike' expressions. This change of creative status may be better understood
if we remember how our early marks with crayon were received by adults. "
Very nice but now let me show you how to
draw properly" So the adult, on behalf of society, teaches a language which
can only become evocative in a creative sense with the added supplement of
facial expression, gesture and 'animated' enunciation. To convey more than words
can say we must utilize the skills of the Perhaps the
importance of this 'primitive' content in the making of images is best
represented by the following anecdote. In the late fifties, when I was a junior
lecturer at a County School of Art, my colleagues and I were presented with a
unique student. The young man's upbringing had been in the isolation of a quarry
which was situated in a very remote corner of the county. His birth and the
subsequent death of his mother had never reached the ears of the Authorities. By
the age of sixteen his life had been confined to company of his father, a rude
home carved out of the quarry face and the wild countryside surrounding the
quarry. Authority eventually discovered him and since he could neither read nor
write nor even speak articulately, he was first placed in a Primary School and
then in the hands of the County Psychologist who discovered that he could
communicate fluently by graphic means. He was therefore passed on to the School
of Art. As a
student amongst his own age group and surrounded by creativity of a visual
order, he became much calmer, although still withdrawn. He produced art-work in
every area; Drawing, Painting, Pottery and Lithography of outstanding
excellence. In the course of the following five years, he became increasingly
self-confident and it was thought that a viable career for him might be found in
the "Potteries" His initial success was quite astounding. It was the
custom, at that time, for the larger firms to offer incentive prizes for young
designers. In his first year in the potteries, he won every prize. In the course
of time he was to be taken in hand by a young lady who was to become his wife.
She taught him to read and write and to become at one with the life of the
industrial city. As a postscript to this story, two features remain to be given
consideration. The first is that in his most creative period, he showed little
ability to discriminate between his work of outstanding merit and that which
was, by the standards of current Art Education, inferior. The work of excellence
was drawn from his close and exclusive relationship with nature during his early
years. The inferior work was an attempt to respond to the 'taught' idioms, which
were the Art Schools' stock-in-trade. The 'idioms' were the product of the
socially acceptable and thus the popular styles of the day. The second feature
appeared some thirty years later when, by coincidence I was working in the
"Potteries". Out of interest, I looked him up. I had little difficulty
in finding him since he was, by this time, a much respected executive. He was
carrying a clipboard round a warehouse when I arrived and had only the vaguest
memory of his years at the School of Art or his, what to me were very special,
activities as a creative artist. Art and
Design So far, I
have described sculpture as the language of form, which in the context of a
'made' image, conveys and sublimates an awareness of life. However life in our
world has changed from one in which we view ourselves as a part of that which is
natural to one in which we see ourselves as distinct from the natural. So far
has this attitude developed that, in the words of an Outdoor Pursuits
instructor, " Our youth live in a computer oriented world, in which they
are at home. When we take them to the footpaths, they have the experience of a
strange new world" The freedom of the spirit, initiated by the image maker
of long ago, opened the door to the advancement of material benefits. The
imagination, once set loose in the human mind, could conceive ways by which we
could improve on the inadequate physical equipment bestowed on us by nature. We
lack the teeth of the carnivore so we invent the knife; we lack the speed to
catch our fleeing prey, so we invent the projectile. These inventions are the
work of the artefactmaker, who, however, still has need of the image-maker.
The 'tool' being an artificial appendage, does not, in itself, have the power to
stimulate the user to apply it. The carnivore has sensations in teeth and gums
as the horse has pleasure in the power of its legs. The image maker must convey
human physical sensations to the artefact in the language of form so as to evoke
a desire to use it. When sculpture is applied to shape the artefact, sculpture
becomes 'design'. A weapon, so designed, may create a wish to cut, stab or
slash. Our clothing can translate an assumed personality at will. Our 'den' may
become a prestigious symbol. As before, the sculptor is then to free us from the
fetters of the natural order, but in doing so, the sculptor also opens the door
to a level of diminished responsibility. We lose the powerful images which
reflected our old awareness of life and replace them with images convenient to
the way we wish to live. This revaluation we call 'aesthetic' and as such is
confusing to a concept of the spirit of sculpture. Aesthetic values inevitably
become pigeon-holes into which can be fitted atrophied designed images. They
promote a character of sculpture without passion and therefore without the power
to make us aware of life. They create a 'safe' chamber in which 'Art' can be
viewed without disturbing ones' current condition of life. The
'designer' makes yet another area of confusion in which the spirit of sculpture
becomes obscure. In seeking to extend our limited abilities, the artefact-image-maker
adopts the properties of animals, birds and fishes to substitute our own
physical sensations. The creation of imagination makes this 'by proxy' possible.
Instead of the artefacts' stimulus coming directly from our body sensations, we
are to assume, in our imagination, the properties and characteristics of other
creatures; to translate the creatures' character, as we see it, from the
creature to ourselves. For example, we may see the Bull as an animal of fearsome
power, and so by adopting the image of the Bull we can assume for ourselves that
fearsome power. Such adaptations become symbols, but they are not valid
sculpture if the image of the creature is literarily copied from nature. To
retain the spirit of sculpture, the image must convey human physical sensations.
If we remember how gesture, facial expression and those expressive but
inarticulate noises with which we supplement speech, conveyed the spirit of
verbal communication when the language was inadequate, we may be able to
understand how the shapes and masses of sculpture can bridge the gap between the
replica of the creature and the significant image. However in
the successful management of symbolic images, the designer has carried us
further away from a world in which humankind can be a part of the whole. For
example, our desire for strength and speed, with its attendant emotional
stimulant, led us to adopting the horse, literarily, and as an image. The
designer of the motor car shapes the bodywork to convey, not only the strength
and speed of the horse but the sense of liberation which we associate with
riding the horse. Thus we see that 'Art' has become accumulated knowledge, to be
used, as so much knowledge is, not for our being part of the world, but for our
being apart from the world. We no longer share the world with the horse, the
bird or the fish but use imagery to manufacture equivalents which identify them
as belonging to a different world to the one in which we live. We have created
an illusion of the natural world with our image-making skills. This is a
synthetic world, in that it is created for the convenience of humankind and not
true to ourselves or to the nature of our life on this planet. Prostitution The true
spirit of sculpture cannot be clearly recognised where humanity has separated
imagery from the context of what might be described as the 'primitive' life of
the planet. By 'primitive' I mean to describe those parts of our beings which
remain as they have from time immemorial and are unaltered by the evolution of
society and the accumulation of knowledge. The potential of the sculptural image
to adjust our attitudes so that we can conceive a link between an animal and
ourselves can also be used as a means to unite humanity around a common purpose.
A community can collectively acquire the attributes of a snake, a bull or an
eagle. We may take, for example, a people who farm crops, as distinct from
hunting and gathering. As an intuitive act of faith, a primitive gesture, they
may prostrate themselves on the earth in an embrace of their means of survival.
Such a people may regard the snake, whose belly is in constant contact with the
earth and whose sensuous movements are akin to love-making, as an image to which
they can physically relate. The image can now replace the demonstration. It
can., in fact do more; it can unite a people into a specific community,
providing a way of differentiating this community from all others. They will
become the 'snake people' and retain the collective group image long after
confidence in knowledge has replaced the need for faith. The image
which served to unify can be changed to identify different phases in the
evolution of society. It can, for instance, promote a "ruler" Thus we
may witness the transformation of a human into "King Snake"; a demi-god
amongst the snake people. The sculptor's image for the ruler not only records
the peoples' agrarian history but also proclaims the ruler's authority. What was
a gesture of communal humility to the earth becomes a disciplined and autocratic
organisation. The figure at the apex of this pyramid structure is in supreme
control of the collective strength of the people and can be seen to control all
aspects of life which affect their well-being. Where nature proves to be beyond
the powers of human control, floods, earthquakes and droughts, the pyramid
creates imaginary powers to maintain its superiority to the natural. The
sculptor is needed to make images to identify the supernatural, thus the ruler
can order a sacrifice or a ceremony to demonstrate the ascendancy of humankind
over nature. Without doubt material survival is improved; greater efficiency is
achieved by consolidating human effort into a single initiative. It is also
without doubt that abuse of the imagery, which initially sprang from an
emotional and spontaneous gesture, had widened the gap between humanity
triumphant and human beings as a part of the natural order of life. In the
western world, the ultimate phase in the 'progress' of society can be seen as a
disenchantment with a pyramid structure such as the one just described. It is
replaced by a democratic-style social organisation and the reestablishment of
the individual. There is, however, no return to the humility which accompanied
the individualism of the earliest phase. The structures which so benefited the
conditions, if not the quality of life, during the 'communal' and the 'ruler'
phases are still present. There is, however, a major difference in that the 'God-like'
powers which had been the sole prerogative of the 'ruler' are now thought to be
within the grasp of everyone. The social climate, far from being humble, is an
arrogant 'rat-race' for power. The sculptor is to be dragged away from the
business of creating the 'Icons' of human awareness of our place in the nature
order. Instead the sculptor must present the "Heroic" image of
humanity, showing us to be the supreme physical animal. Our powers are akin to
God and we seem to bend the natural order to our convenience. Nothing is
considered to be beyond the scope of humankind. The spirit of sculpture is no
longer a natural phenomenon but a contrived technique to demonstrate skill and
power. The sculptor must produce a likeness of ourselves as a vanity mirror
which can sweep aside any consideration of vulnerability. Paradoxically,
in this last phase, we become introspective towards our historical evolution. We
fill museums and art galleries with art and artefacts from the past phases. Our
image-making excels in references to cultures remote from the contemporary
scene. We may even bend it into ornamental decoration and design. It is not,
however, a nostalgia for a lost quality of life. It is more an assertion of the
superiority of this current phase. We seek to dominate and justify ourselves
when humility would rediscover the lost harmony. Because we cannot live by the
imagery of the past, we put it into glass cases with dates, the names of the
scientists who brought it to light and, of course, catalogue numbers. We render
it 'safe' to view, with all the intellectual equipment of an agnostic
civilisation. Art and Design become so confused that we present the sculptors'
images in museum-like art galleries where, more often than not, the style of
presentation dominates and nullifies the sculpture. We have become more
concerned with the sterile aesthetics of exhibition design than with the content
of the exhibition. Good taste, aesthetic considerations and the literary
programming by art critics and art historians can lead to the kind of
misunderstanding, which, with a blush of shame, I now quote. In the
early fifties I had, with a fellow student, the opportunity to escort a young
member of Muslim royalty around London. At his request, we took him to the
medieval church of St. Bartholomew in the City. The silent and gloomy interior
with its cave‑like plump columns and low dark timbered roof evoked all the
primitive spirituality of Anglo Saxon faith. There was, however, a discordant
note in, what to us, was a shrine of consistent imagery. It consisted of painted
crucifixion made in the ornamental tradition of the age of Queen Victoria. To
avert our aesthetic discomfort, my colleague and I ignored this sculpture.
Later, over a cup of coffee, we were to discover that our disdain had
considerably upset our Muslim charge. He told us that, as a child, he had been
taken by his father to witness crucifixions so that he might be moved to abolish
this form of punishment when he grew up. We could not, without embarrassment,
tell him that this same image had become a part of jewellery for self-adornment,
nor could we explain our rejection of the sculpture because it was stylistically
inappropriate. For us, atrophy had robbed the image of its potency. This
experience, salutary as it was, is not the unique. In 1937 the sculptor Eric
Gill made a caustic comment on the detached attitude of our society towards
images which could be dismissed as mere works of art: It is
not true that capitalists and industrialist don't care about beauty. No, on the
contrary, they worship it; they give it special honour; honour unheard of in
medieval England. They endow picture galleries and museums. They flock to the
Royal Academy; they endow art schools; they worship prominent painters, and
sculptors and architects and poets, making some of them Lords and many Knights.
No, there is no lack of honour for beauty. The evil thing is that they make it
something special, something separate, not an ordinary thing to be found
everywhere, but a special thing made by special people and found only in special
places. This almost
contemporary illustration may appear familiar. Conclusion
or Beginning One has to
acknowledge that the result of our reflective introspection, which I have
hitherto condemned, has been to provide the perspective by which I can prescribe
a new beginning to the cycle of social changes. The "rise and fall" of
civilisations is much documented in our libraries. The last phase, the 'fall'
is, in every history, dominated by a surfeit of over-familiar and thus,
atrophied imagery, and, with variations, each of the other phases which preceded
it are regarded as academic and of interest only as antique. The "Art"
of ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome, of Aztec and Inca. of India and China, is all
readily available to the society of the second millennium. Will we file it away
as evidence of our ability to amass knowledge? Or will we re-think our state of
being? We may consider that the civilisations recorded in our books moved
through 'rise and fall' cycles and that the phases which I have outlined in
terms of sculpture may not only describe our present state but also offer
proposals for our future. We may see a parallel between the hedonism of Babylon,
the Maze of Minos, the Library of Alexander and the gladiatorial amphitheatre of
Rome. We may cast a glance at the art of the 'sensationalist' and the popularity
of the sexual and violent images which provide distraction and entertainment to
today's society. It may be
noted that in each 'decadent' phase of the past civilisations, the seeds of new
beginning were already appearing as shoots whilst the contrived entertainment
was in full flower. Thus the legend of Theseus arises as the Minoan civilisation
is collapsing. The concepts and imagery of Christianity fertilised in the
catacombs beneath the orgies of the amphitheatre. We do not, however, see a
linear progression in the evolution of imagery, rather an ebb and flow. Whilst
the tide will inevitably reach its high or low levels, each wave comes across
the beach only to recede and come again. The sculptor who struggles to create
images which are to be the vital seeds of a new beginning will be seen by future
generations as having 'been ahead' of his or her time. By comparison, the
sculptors who reflect the contemporary scene will be popular and applauded in
their own time. As with all language, the language of form will only be
understood and its content interpreted when the social climate indicates the
need to understand. My mother, in advanced years, on seeing a herd of cows in a
field, remarked, "Don’t cows do anything except eat?" When humankind
does anything except survive, it does so by creating images, of which sculpture
remains the most poignant. The image feeds humankind an awareness of living
which is akin to love of life. At this
point, my reader may well look at the contemporary British Art scene with
consternation. What is clear is that it is consistently out of step and
self-contradicting. It would appear that a great many British Sculptors do not
know to which age they belong and therefore attempt a compromise of many. Apart
from belonging to a society which collects "Art" and therefore robs
the sculptor of any incentive to create images of universal significance, the
British artist has suffered from the effects of ignominious Art Education. The
Sculptor and Art Education It is
perhaps significant that a great deal of what I have previously discussed as the
starting point and most significant phase in the cycle of civilisations was
inspired by the work of continental artists. During the first half of this last
century Picasso, Marini, Manzu, Giacometti and Germaine Richier amongst others,
carried forward a program of sculpture which has been called
"Primitive" Many British sculptors have also been inspiring but for
the most part their contribution sprang from continental models. Moreover,
during the first fifty years of the last century until about 1950, the few
British sculptors of importance were condemned by the media and art
educationists. Such was the national rejection of his work that Epstein's
"Adam" could only be accepted as a curiosity in a fairground booth. In
my own experience as a student in 1948, I was warned off any work which might be
classed as 'universal symbolism' and instructed to stay on the safe ground of
'social realism'. Picasso and Henry Moore were regarded as charlatans and all
works of a 'primitive' content were wilfully misunderstood and often classed as
surrealism which the media had used as the refuse- bin for every
art-form which failed to fit in with what they thought society expected.
For the most part members of staff in Colleges of Art were hesitant towards what
had become 'modem art' and their teaching directed students to disregard the
work of anti-establishment sculptors. Staff were, understandably, more concerned
with the success of their students in the national examinations than with the
evolution of sculptural attitudes on the international level. I cannot
believe that the native talent of the British sculptor was lacking compared with
those of the continent so why had so few ventured up-hill and against the wind?
It is certainly not because Britain is more decadent than any other country in
the western world; it is, on the contrary, because Britain has a history of
excellence in higher education. Pride and confidence in the validity of this
academic achievement and a misconception of the artisan character of sculpture
paved the way for the study of art to become a subject in the context of a
University-style education. The inappropriateness of this context caused
not a ripple of doubt in the minds of those who dictated the structure of Art
Education. That sculpture is the very antithesis of academic and scientific
sophistication could not be acceptable in Britain where so much faith is placed
in literature and the advancement of material benefits. To compound
the background of British Education in sculpture further, the introduction of
'State' art education was sponsored in the beginning for entirely commercial
purposes. It was therefore in total contradiction to the aspirations of
sculptors who may otherwise have trod the same path as their continental
counterparts. State education is rarely the product of educational idealism. The
misadventure of art education in Britain goes back to 1883. Whilst Paul Gauguin
was making the first overtures towards 'primitivism', Queen Victoria was
founding the Royal College of Art. Her sponsorship was in response to the
findings of a Royal Commission, which had been instructed to investigate the
failure of British products in world markets. Its report to Her Majesty
indicated that although British technology was superior, the 'design' of our
products was less attractive than that of other countries. The example of The
Royal College of Art was to spur local education authorities, industry and
commerce into a frenzy of activity. Within a few years there were 800 Colleges
of Art in existence all over Britain. State education for the sculptor was
unique in the world; even the smallest industrial township could provide a
College of Art. It must be remembered that the purpose of art education was to
better the design of industrial products. What was missing, however, was
teachers of art who had any notion of sculpture outside the 'neoclassical'.
There was no such animal as an industrial designer; the staffing of the Colleges
had to come from those artists who had studied 'Fine Art' at the Royal Academy
or the Slade faculty at University College, London. The Royal Academy was
founded by Sir Joshua Reynolds for the furtherance of antique Italianate culture
and Felix Slade's patronage was to the same purpose. The acquisition of imagery
and familiarity with the neoclassical was a prestigious social asset. In both of
these older institutions, it was the 'Painter' who dominated the educational
structure. The 'Drawing Exam' was to be the national criteria for excellence in
art and design. Every College of Art was stocked with replica plaster casts of
antique Greek, Roman and Renaissance sculpture and the examiners gave credit to
students who, with graded pencils and smudger, contrived to give a faithful
imitation of these casts on paper. The live model was used on occasion and the
term 'model' could well be pertinent since he or she was, in the drawing, a mere
variant of the plaster casts. The model was not to extend the borders of
perception but to provide a variant for 'classical' themes. The anomaly of the
need for sculpture in applied design and the teaching programme dictated by
'Painters' who promoted drawing as the prime requirement, was already
established. Regrettably this precedent set the pattern into recent times. By 1930
little had changed in State art education and the few new elements only served
to make a yet more confusing structure for the education of the sculptor. The
Pre-Raphaelite movement had given rise to the consideration of more 'earthy'
values and by the thirties, the efforts of William Morris had led to the
promotion of hand-craft, at the same time casting some doubts upon the virtues
of neoclassical art and the 'art gallery' as a means of presentation. The
doubts, however, were insufficient and only served to split art education into
two camps; 'Fine Art' and 'Craft' design. In Paris, neoclassical art had given
way to a (romantic' movement, which, in turn, had paved the way, for the
'realist' movement. Realism being to call a spade 'a bloody shovel'; to look at
the world with uncompromising, almost brutal objectivity. 'Impressionism', the
outcome of the realists, attracted the interest of British Artists such as
Sickert and 'Social Realism' which by 1930 was the idiom of the Royal College of
Art and through that body became the more advanced directive for the 800
Colleges of Art. Neoclassical 'applied design' could no longer be maintained as
the raison d'etre of art education. Sculptors who produced classical nudes to
support sewing machines and relief decoration on pottery had to be instructed
within industry, State education concerned itself with the two remaining areas
of study; Fine Art, being social realism and painter oriented, and 'craft
designers' where manual skills combined with a confused understanding of what
idiom they were to pursue. The choice inevitably reverted to industry and
popularity in the market. Sculpture in art education was thus thrown into the
unenviable state of being a misfit. Sculpture might be considered a 'craft' but
as such, would be better taught in the appropriate industry, or as a Fine Art,
in which case it had to conform to the attitudes of the 'Painter' dominant
schools. The Ministry of Education, ever conscious of the original brief, (to
improve the marketability of British goods) established a new qualifying
examination to be called 'The National Diploma in Design'. The title should have
clarified the structure of Art Education. However, the Fine Art departments were
not to be put down so easily. The post‑graduate colleges reacted strongly
against the 'design' motive in the national diploma criteria. They saw
themselves as the bastions of a national culture and the principal of the Royal
College declared emphatically that the Fine Artist was the only 'artist' and
designers were much second best. ARCA being the desirable qualification for
lecturers in Colleges of Art and Design, this assertion propagated an unsettling
schism throughout the country. By the 1940s, Sir William Coldstream had moved
the attitudes of 'New English Art Club' into the Slade faculty of University
College thus introducing the more emancipated ideas of Paris into
post‑graduate studies. By the 50's Britain could boast a very worthy group
of sculptors and painters who were substantially adding to the revaluation of
20th century art. Despite this, however the examiners for the National Diploma
in Design were still assessing students by 19th century criteria. The
critical moment was at hand for a revision of State Art Education. The character
of study for the National Diploma had little or no connection with the work of
the leading artists of the day. Leeds College of Art employed, as visiting
staff, many of these artists whose assessment of the students proved to be at
complete variance with those of the ministry's assessors. Such a situation could
not be ignored and resulted in the professor of the Slade School being asked to
produce recommendations for the revision of Art Education in Britain. The 'Coldstream
Report' was one of the most brilliant documents in the annals of Art Education.
It was destined to put the whole study of painters, sculptors and designers into
perspective. The implementation of the 'report' however proved to be the length
of rope on which the future of State Art Education was to be hanged. Her
Majesty's government viewed the existence of 800 Colleges of Art with an average
intake of 30 students each year for five years of study, as something of an
extravagance. The more so when the purpose of such establishments was in
question. The implementation of the Coldstream Report provided a means by which
the questionable area of Art Education could be 'rationalised' Surely design for
industry and commerce was a technical subject to be correctly studied in the
'polytechnic' structure. If Fine Art was not technology, then it must be an
academic study. The way ahead was being paved for the 'intellectual' sculptor
who would survey the contemporary scene and select appropriate imagery to
comment on it, in much the same manner as the popular media. Such commentary
was, after all, not far removed from 'social realism' it differed only in as
much as it was more literal and omitted the process of 'perception' to
'conception' to the recreation in the materials of traditional art. From
Germany, the philosophy of the 'Bauhaus' group began to make itself felt in the
new educational structure. Maurice de Sausmaurez's book on "Basic
Design" outlined a structure for 'Foundation' studies, where much of the
spirit of the Coldstream Report had been retained. As such, it was an excellent
method of exercising the visual skills required in the creative manipulation of
form, colour and texture. Regrettably, however, it was to extend beyond the
confines of 'Foundation' ‑studies and become, for many artists, an 'end'
in itself. "Abstract Sculpture" causes one to wonder, what would have
been the outcome, if the contribution of Klee and Kandinsky had not been deleted
from the British scenario of the Bauhaus philosophy. The
National Diploma in Design changed its name again and became the 'Diploma in Art
and Design' thus accepting Fine Art as a scholarly pursuit. As the Polytechnic
institutions became Universities, a Bachelor or Master of Arts could be offered
to Artist or Designer. The 800 Colleges of art were redundant and have become
embarrassing real estate for Local Authorities. This
complex history of the last hundred years has been included because it is
necessary for the aspiring sculptor to understand and perhaps dismiss the
educational environment into which he or she has been born. We are,
understandably, 'programmed' by the attitudes we were brought up with and
therefore find it difficult to put aside our habits of thought. However, even
the most conservative would‑be sculptor must feel uncertain in the face of
so many contemporary idioms. I was once asked by a student, who spoke with
simple, frank sincerity, "How do I learn how to be a modem sculptor?"
A seemingly naive question, yet, in fact, reasonable. He was faced with the
choice of Neoclassicism, Social Realism, Abstraction or Sensationalism, none of
which are appropriate to the description of the 'spirit of sculpture' as I have
previously defined it. It is not to our world, our social world as it is now,
that we should look for direction, but to the future. The seeds of new growth
have already been sown and their development can be promoted if we weed out the
misunderstandings of Art Education. The cycle of social evolution shows us to be
at a 'decadent' phase and at the beginning of the next 'primitive' phase. The
awareness of ourselves in the full context of the natural world, our natural
responses, indeed our natural selves is the future of Sculpture. To discover,
without the idiomatic dictates of the decadent phase, the images of humanity and
life as they exist behind the screen of 'civilisation'. This 'magic' of the
sculptor's images can and should be the inspiration for the future. Stories
about Sculpture, Painting, and the Primitive The story
is often a history and history becomes legend. Whether we seek proven history or
stimulating legend is a choice which identifies the state of our social
evolution. The choice indicates the difference between the antique collector who
labels and catalogues with synthetic retrospection and the creative artist who
tastes and smells the fresh awakening growths of the future whilst searching
into the past. As a student in the fifties, I acquired from those of the older
generation who guided me, a profound love of the paintings of Samuel Palmer. I
was to discover that amongst the fraternity of artists, my admiration was
extensively shared, although, unlike his contemporary, William Blake, he was not
to the general public, well known. The "Dark satanic mills" of the
'industrial revolution' have, despite the "Chariots of fire" become
the 'high‑tech' of the twentieth century, but many artist still seek an
antidote to the disease of materialism. My first 'story' may give grounds for
thought. During the
early years of 'The Crusades' heavy horses and armour drove the Arabs off the
southern plains of France and into Spain. Here the conflict became sporadic and
castles were taken and retaken many times before an advance could be confirmed.
Such was the haste which attended retreat that the departing occupants often had
to abandon their belongings. The 'log' of an Abbot and his community who
attended the Knights, soldiers and their families after they had taken
possession of one such castle, records an incident, the significance of which I
leave to the reader. In his
newly acquired ' billet' a monk discovered a collection of brass mechanisms and
glass lenses. Being a monk of inquisitive as well as resourceful character, he
passed what leisure time he had, not only in solving the puzzle of the
instrument use but also in becoming adept in its application. He used the
‘microscope’, which is what we may now call it, to examine the amazing
variety of living creatures in apparently clear water. He even got as far as
comparing the water from different streams and wells. This diversion and the
indulgence of his curiosity were, however, to be violently suspended. An
epidemic of typhoid fever broke out amongst the new inhabitants of the castle.
Like all his community, he was fully occupied nursing and 'bleeding' the sick.
He did, it would appear, find some time to put blood from one of his leeches
under his microscope and was thereby able to identify one creature which he
recognised as similar to one to found in the water of a particular well in the
castle. His authority, as a monk, was sufficient for him to order the filling in
of this well before returning to the hectic burden of the sick and dying. The
epidemic diminished and the life of the Abbot became less demanding. The Abbot
was able to reconstruct and record the events which led to the reduction and
eventual end to the number of sick and dying. His enquiries disclosed the
filling in of the well and furthermore, from that time, the rapid decline of the
epidemic. He demanded from his monk, the nature of the 'vision' or the name of
the Saint which had inspired the monk's action. The monk told the Abbot the
whole truth as it had happened. After some deliberation, the Abbot ordered the
microscope to be publicly destroyed and the monk to do a penance that he might
learn to curb his curiosity about those matters in God's creation which
humankind had not the wisdom to investigate. We may
consider that the Abbot's action deprived the world of medical science for many
hundreds of years and that many lives might have been saved. However, by the
same token, we may consider the loss of life if the Atomic bomb had been
available to Napoleon. The ethics are, by the way, my purpose is to illustrate
the lost value of 'faith' in a more natural or perhaps less materialistic age.
It may be argued that 'faith' was the product of wisdom, born of primitive
imagery and that ‘science’ was the result of irresponsible indulgence in
curiosity. There is no doubt in my mind that when the cards are down and
humankind faces extreme trauma, it is to images of faith which can inspire that
we look. The 'Colours' throughout the history of warfare, have been the image
which could make men defy reason and the natural instinct of
self‑preservation. For the incurable sick and disabled the many religious
sites of Europe are the cause of willing but distressing pilgrimage. The
Isenheim Altarpiece by Grunewald, with its terrifying Crucifixion, was created
and successfully used to cure the ulcers and skin disorders which were prolific
in the psychological insecurity of cities in 16th century Europe. The indulgence
of scientific rationalism is only viable in a world which believes itself to be
secure, in which the material benefits are so compounded that the awareness is
anaesthetised. The image-maker has a serious responsibility, in such a case, to
dispel the anaesthetic. However
another 'story' this one covering a considerable passage of time and events yet
bringing us, full circle, back to where the story began. The imagery
of the 'bronze-age' included the adaptation of the earlier stone cup forms into
shields and bosses. These metal reliefs were enhanced with vitreous enamels,
colours having a history of significance dating back to the most ancient Celtic
culture. During the early middle ages, the meaning of these colours was still
understood by the illiterate inhabitants of villages and hamlets in the forests
of the 'Cheshire gap'. Rising out of the forested plane, on a craggy lateral
moraine was the castle of the warrior-monk, John the Scot, who in pursuit of
scholarship, recorded and edited the significance of each colour as understood
by the people of the plane around his castle. John the Scot's manuscript became
part of the library of the Lindisfarne monastic community which, at this time,
was the spiritual citadel of Christianity in Britain. Following 'The Synod of
Whitby' whereby Rome became the centre of administration for all Christianity in
Europe, the library of Lindisfarne was transferred to the monastery of St.
Denis, north-east of Paris. The character of the manuscripts which came from
Lindisfarne also had its origin in the same 'bronze-age' culture. The meaning of
the colours was the commentary of John the Scot and the illumination, the
elaboration of imagery of the Latin script, was a graphic version of earlier
stone-carvings, being lucid imagery to those who could not read the Latin and
furthermore, conveying thought not included in the text. At the time
of the first crusade, the King of France was to leave his kingdom in the capable
hands of the Abbot Suger, Bishop of western France. Suger was of humble origin
but his talents, even as a child, had resulted in his acceptance at the Abbey
School of St. Denis where the nobility of France were educated. His subsequent
promotion in the realm was no doubt due to his childhood friendship with Louis
the First, but Suger had a brilliance of intellect and creativity which more
than justified his status. Under his guidance, the economy of the nation
prospered, yet he still found time to conceive an architectural innovation which
was to be a milestone in the development of European Architecture. His initial
inspiration sprang from the evocative quality which he discovered in the
illuminated Capitals of the Lindisfarne books. He conceived a building where the
vertical strokes of the pen would be translated into transcendental columns of
stone, where the curves and circles could become vaulting and the whole be a
gigantic monument to the sacred script. The skeleton of monumental stone
calligraphy, he supported with 'flying buttresses and filled the open areas with
a screen of stone or glass. The glass became the coloured illumination of the
letter forms and was the result of Suger's understanding of John the Scot's
writings and Suger's impresario-like direction of the craftsmen who made the
glass. The Church of St. Denis still stands and is the prototype for the Gothic
Cathedrals which were to follow. That which
had started as 'Celtic' stone carving, had become graphic only to return as
stone sculpture in the cascades of rounded imagery which adorn the frontages of
the Gothic Cathedrals. We may think that we are looking at the end of a cycle
which started with bronze age 'cup forms' but the story and the cycle are by no
means completed. The 'primitive' imagery is to weave its way through many more
centuries. As the term
implies, The Italian Renaissance was to be the 'glory that was Rome' The
starting point, however, had but an antiquarian connection with ancient Rome.
The Emperor, Frederick II promoted a scheme for the restoration of ancient Roman
architecture and sculpture with which a sculptor, Nicola Pisano, was involved.
It was the son of Nicola, Giovanni Pisano, who was to combine his father's
enthusiasm for Roman Sculpture with the rounded figurative forms being produced
for Gothic Cathedrals in the workshops of Paris. In the 13th century, Paris was
the haven to which all aspiring sculptors gravitated and to which Nicola had
sent his son. On his return to Italy, Giovanni took every opportunity to make
manifest in stone, the character of sculptural form which, although the accepted
idiom of northern Europe, was unique in Italy. The churches of Italy were based
on the architecture of the Roman Law Court, the Basilica, having blank plaster
interior walls and only a few small windows near the barrel vaulted ceiling.
From the moment in time when the painter, Giotto, took upon himself to recreate
in Fresco the illusion of sculpture, there followed a development of Italian art
which gave precedence to painting and the novelty of the illusion. The illusion,
however, ceased to be of the gothic primitives but, as the social world of the
renaissance became more materialistic , the illusion of reality became the
artist prime concern. Not so much the spiritual but more the material world
might suggest that the imagery of the bronze‑age had finally dissolved. It
was not, however, to disappear or become material for the collectors of antique.
In Spain and northern Europe it appeared in the art of El Greco, Goya, Grunwald,
Palmer and Blake where the theatrical element often disguised an inner need to
express more than appearances. The remarkable occurred, when in 1888, Paul
Gauguin was to meet Emile Bernard. Emile was an expert enthusiast of medieval
art. The findings of John the Scot, the innovations of Suger, were all placed in
the hands of Gauguin. A much travelled man, Gauguin was already knowledgeable
about primitive sculpture and the people in many parts of the world where it was
made and used. He was to set in motion the turn of the cycle into the 20th
century. 'Synthetic symbolism' was the term Gauguin used to describe his use of
colour and form. The intention was to evoke archetypical sensations rather than
the representation of what the eye or camera saw. From this starting point the
important sculptors of the 20th century were to take off. Epstein looked to
Polynesia; Picasso to Africa and with Giacometti, Manzu, Marini, Moore and many
others, to the archaic cultures of the Mediterranean. Are there now grounds for
the sculptor to look at the archaic cultures of the British Isles, for after all
that is where this story began?
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