'Monument For The Living' / Monument For The Dead

First Twelve Images:  Grenfell Tower, North Kensington, London, June 2017 (Various Sources). 

Recent events have reminded me thatI seem to view even the most momentous occurrences through a filter of art.  I’m not sure exactly how healthy this really is, (or if it’s necessarily anything to be proud of) but it does appear to be my default method for negotiating even the most harrowing realities of life.  There seem to plenty of those to confront these days.

Thus it is that, even in the midst of the distressing news reports from the recent Grenfell Tower disaster, I couldn’t help but be struck by the iconic and symbolic aspects of the edifice, both as the fire raged, and in it’s subsequent burnt-out state.  In this respect, the visual impact seems not unlike that of the Twin Towers, back in 2001, even if the loss of life and far-reaching geo-political impact are somewhat less this time round [1.].  For all their grimness, the numerous images of Grenfell Tower now circulating make an impression that is undeniably spectacular.

Even in their non-catastrophic state, the monolithic character of such buildings, makes them resonant statements within the urban landscape - extending far beyond considerations of architectural functionality (or lack of).  Indeed, many have argued that the imperative to build towers has as much to say about (male?) Human psychology, as it does the need to maximise habitable space in congested regions.  Once disaster strikes, that resonance multiplies exponentially, and prosaic architecture is transformed into a monument to hubris, folly, or whatever you will.  

In iconographic terms, Grenfell and the Twin Towers join a list that might include The Tower of Babel, The Lighthouse at Alexandria, Rowan Point, ‘The Towering Inferno’, Ballard’s ‘High Rise’ block, and the apocalyptic high-rise playgrounds of ‘Godzilla’ and ‘Cloverfield’, amongst many others.  The fact of several of those being purely fictional only returns me to my own quandaries over a perceived tendency to confuse art and reality.

Even as I type, I’m aware this may all sound appallingly cold or detached.  I should emphasise that the victims and survivors of Grenfell Tower have my utmost sympathy regarding their trauma and loss, and not a little understanding of the anger many of them have expressed in relation to their treatment both before and since the tragedy.  They don’t need to, (and shouldn’t) give a damn about my quasi-intellectual agonising on here.  In search of some smidgeon of redemption, I’m struck by the realisation that, of all the images deriving from Grenfell - the one which affected me most was of people waving for help in the window of their apartment as the inferno took hold.  It brought everything back to a human scale and forces us to confront the horror unfolding before our eyes in ways that render talk of ‘symbolism’ or ‘iconography’ irrelevant [2.].

If anything, that leads me to question even more, my own tendency to seek a formalisation of even the most existential events through artifice [3.].  Ultimately, it is only what all forms of art seek to do, I suppose – and it’s really just the degree of perceived emotional detachment within any work, that may be worth arguing over.  Even then, I’m drawn to reflect that Expressionism is far from the only valid response in such cases, and can even feel like an over- histrionic blunt tool, in some cases.

Either way, the realisation that all this may really just be a form of psychic defence mechanism is brought home to me by an experience of my own around the time of my Father’s death.  Late one evening, as he lay critically ill in Sheffield’s Royal Hallamshire Hospital, I found myself lingering for a few unnecessary minutes in the car park, to stare up at the complex’s main block (another prime example of architectural Brutalism).  I imagined him as one tiny individual, hanging on to life by a thread, and lost somewhere within that vast, impersonal immensity of concrete.  Perplexingly, as I wrestled with the awful pathos of that moment, part of my brain sought to concoct an imaginary film sequence out of the experience - even to the point of considering how one might light and compose the scene.  Some years later, I still wonder how and why I found the time and detachment to do that – instead of simply running into the building as quickly as possible [4.].

Marwan Rechmaoui, 'Monument For The Living', Concrete & Wood, 2001 -08

There’s one last connection worth making here – with Marwan Rechmaoui’s sculpture, ‘Monument For The Living’, which impressed me during a recent trip to London’s Tate Modern.  At first glance, this appears to be a fairly straightforward elegy to the Brutalist tower, realised in wood and concrete. However, the accompanying information panel reveals it is a model of Beirut’s Burj El Murr – a tower whose construction began in 1974, but was abandoned during the Lebanese Civil War.  The structure was only ever used as a sniper position, and has stood as a monument to the conflict ever since due to the impracticality of demolishing it.  Rechmaoui’s piece is a classic example of how an artifact with, admittedly, considerable existing presence, can take on far more emotional resonance, once its backstory is understood.  And it is, of course, further testament to the symbolic potential of towers themselves.

On reflection, I’m going to stop beating myself up about all this Art vs ‘real’ emotion stuff.  Who said there’s only one way to process emotion anyway?  The artifacts of Art need not simply stand-in for human response, but can act as distillers and magnifiers of it too, for some of us at least.  Overt emoting may be an obvious and instinctive signifier of our reactions, but a more reflective slow burn, possibly apprehended via images, objects or environments, may be no less deeply felt in the long run.  Our emotions are, above all, our own [5.].

[1.]:  Similar questions over the relationship between Art and catastrophic events were clearly preoccupying me when I wrote a post relating to Gerhard Richter’s treatment of the 9/11 atrocity, some time ago.

[2.]:  It may be no coincidence that this image is already in much less evidence – perhaps out of respect for grieving relatives, or possibly because it really is just too ‘real’ for many to stomach.

[3.]:  Indeed, is not ‘Existentialism’ itself a prime example of that very impulse to formalise?

[4.]:  It sometimes feels like my autobiography of significant memories is made up from a series of such imagined cinematic moments.  Film has always felt like the closest medium to memory, and indeed dreams, to me.  Even so, it still feels strange that I should seek to construct a memory quite so self-consciously, in the midst of such trauma.

[5.]:  Whilst the admission embarrasses me, I’ve actually felt the briefest atom of sympathy for Prime Minister, Theresa May - despite her ill-judged ‘cold fish’ act as the Grenfell Tower tragedy unfolded.  Her real crime would seem to be to preside over a regime whose values and actions may have contributed to the societal inequalities and reckless penny-pinching reflected in Grenfell Tower.  Furthermore, she certainly failed to recognise that her job description requires her to provide constructive leadership in a crisis FOR ALL, and to just – ‘represent’.  But, given her track record, it was always going to be impossible for anything resembling a ‘real’ person to turn up, or be heard.  I may despise most of what she stands for, and understand the motivations underlying many of the brickbats hurled her way – but it behoves us all to suspend judgement over what, or how deeply, another person really feels.  Emotional intelligence must cut both ways, if it is to be a viable currency.