'We Grown-Ups Can Also Be Afraid', At Attenborough Arts Centre, Leicester

 

(L.): Francisca Aninat, 'Interior/Exterior Field', Canvas, Cardboard, Newspaper & Thread, 2007
(R.): Mona Hartoum, 'Hot Spot', Stainless Steel & Neon, 2006
(All Images: 'We Grown-Ups Can Also Be Afraid', Attenborough Arts Centre, Leicester, July 2025)

I managed to catch up with my friend Andrew Smith, a few days ago, and we took the time to visit the 'We Grown-Ups Can also Be Afraid' exhibition at Leicester's Attenborough Arts Centre. It proved well worth the effort. Although modest in scale, the show features a well curated selection of stimulating contemporary work from the private collection of David and Indré Roberts. I won't claim any prior knowledge of them, or of the Roberts Institute of Art, but a modicum of research suggests the latter is a non-profit organisation with considerable outreach and heft. The Attenborough exhibition itself aims to showcase work that engages with a range of the crises and insecurities that haunt our world, without descending to the level of mere sloganeering or shallow didacticism - something which sometimes feels like a limiting factor in so much of the current work littering contemporary galleries across the globe. 

Don't get me wrong, I have no objection to the arts being engaged with socio-political issues. Indeed, I'd even argue that it is a duty of any creative endeavour to acknowledge and critique the times in which it emerges, if it is to claim any relevance beyond being 'mere' decor/escapism. Ultimately though, I suppose I do have a basic requirement for a bit of 'Art' to remain in there too. If I want simplistic solutions, ideologically-driven polemic, or direct calls to action, I'll read a book, attend a protest rally (or some other variety of intervention), watch a documentary, sign a petition, or even sully myself with social media. The aesthetic of the protest placard or campaigning graffiti feels far more vivid on the street than in the art gallery. 

Mona Hartoum, 'Hot Spot' (Detail) With Gallery View

Nina Beier & Marie Lund, 'We Grown-Ups Can Also Be Afraid', Video, 2007

See Above

There, a slower burn or more reflective approach may often have a greater effect, I would argue. Without engaging with any debates over privately accumulated collections, or the nature of the art object as status symbol/luxury indulgence, I prefer to believe that there is still an, admittedly modest, arena in which made/visual artefacts can engage us through aesthetic stimulation - first, philosophic reflection - second, and perhaps morally - third. 

Direct action, the taking of sides, the pursuit of conflicts (be they ideological or military) - these activities all tend to work within traditional, entrenched thought patterns. One side pretends to 'win' while the other stores up grievance. We pick a side and embrace the associated echo chamber of opinion, or else - turn off the news and feel grateful that stuff doesn't (usually) happen here. We go round and round the mulberry bush as cities are bombed, populations are displaced, children starve, chemical plants explode and eco-systems go up in flames. (Your turn today - our turn tomorrow). Alternatively, might it be that through observation, calm reflection, engagement with the absurdity/tragic poetry of catastrophe, or even just through creative endeavour as a gesture of positivity in itself, that more flexible or adaptive solutions might one day emerge? Clearly, no single artwork could ever have prevented Auschwitz, Hiroshima, Chernobyl, Gaza, etc. but could it perhaps eventually stimulate enough critical thinking to persuade us it really wasn't a great idea last time - and still won't be the next time some idiots try it? If I'm simply deluding myself here, at least, in a show like this, I get to distract myself or virtue-signal with something a little more stimulating than a lot of what gets dished-up these days.

Francesca Aninat, 'Interior/Exterior Field' (Detail)

Fiona Banner, 'Mirror Fin, Jaguar', Polished Aircraft Tail Fin, 2006

Anyway, enough with the ill-thought-out philosophising. I had originally planned to discuss, in some depth, the individual pieces from the exhibition that impressed me most. But the reality is that nearly everything affected me to some degree or another. Besides that, the musings above have already taken up both time and space. Here's a rather more superficial précis, instead: 

 

Phyllida Barlow, 'Untitled: Disaster 5', Mixed Sculptural Media & Castors, 2010

Mona Hartoum's, 'Hot Spot' presides over the entire gallery, bathing everything else in its infernal glow and implied heat. It functions as one of those objects that combine elegant simplicity with lasting resonance. Whilst initially intended as a geo-political commentary, it now feels equally well adapted as a symbol of the environmental conflagration now enfolding us us all. It almost feels like it's accumulating disasters as it sits there and gently buzzes to itself.  Nearby, Francisca Aninat allows the accumulated detritus of her cultural origins to accrete in a new corner/location, even as it may have previously felt washed-away through displacement or migration on a similarly global scale. 

Nina Beier and Marie Lund lend the show its title with their video that combines a visual meditation on the mundane environs of a Danish primary school, and a soundtrack in which unseen children rehearse a song listing the potential catastrophic fears waiting to haunt their adult lives. There's something darkly enjoyable about the way the class degenerates into infantile chaos and petty squabbling, even as their teacher struggles to focus them on the nightmares ahead. Meanwhile, Jacco Olivier's video, 'Saeftinghe' approaches things in a different but equally intriguing manner by digitally manipulating his crudely-painted evocations of disaster, conflict and ultimate submersion, as they are visited upon a tract of Dutch landscape. In passing, it impresses me that both videos manage to pack a considerable punch whilst being pretty short in duration by normal art-video standards.

Jacco Olivier, 'Saeftinghe', Video, 2006

See Above

Fiona Banner provokes literal reflection by mirror-polishing the tail fin of a war plane ('Mirror Fin, Jaguar'), questioning the double-think that allows us to find such sleek beauty in the contours of a sophisticated killing machine. It's another of those simultaneously elegant and profound statements that seems to encapsulate something of humanity's gleeful  death-drive. Phyllida Barlow doesn't summon quite the same seductive beauty for her semi-abstract blob of mangled detritus, 'Untitled: Disaster 5', but it appeals to me, nonetheless. In execution, it might be little more than the kind of 'experimental' foamed-together crap pile one might once have found littering the studio floors of numerous art colleges, were it not for the simple, delightful expedient of attaching castors to its underside. A small portion of portable disaster - suddenly, that almost feels like the kind of thing Duchamp himself might have dreamt-up.

Doris Salcedo, 'Atrabiliaros', Shoes, Cow Bladder & Surgical Thread, 1996

 

More solemn are the shoes of the Latin American disappeared that Doris Salcedo obscures behind stitched viceral membranes, in her small 'Atrabiliaros' instillation. The context is different, but I find it impossible not to see echoes of the Nazi's 'final solution' here too, and ultimately, perhaps it all just boils down to a repudiation of humanity and the futile deletion of individuals in the end. Even more minimal and fleeting in their visual effects are Ayan Farah's stretched blanket pieces. Although resembling highly distilled abstract paintings, they are actually  composed of chemical stains or collected dust, seemingly encapsulating as much time as they do materiality. By applying the residual traces of some implied cataclysm or unwanted transformation, to what should be the fabric of domestic comfort, Farah implies the ultimate fragility of whatever stable life we might attempt to construct. I'm reminded to some extent of the domestic linen that often litters the bombed-out apartments of Gaza, Syria, Kiev, wherever... but also of the grubby bedding of Leicester's own rough sleepers, or the lines of washing in the steel town of Consett, that I once observed from a train window, collecting choking brown dust, even as it dried.

Ayan Farah, Blanket Pieces, 2011

Ayan Farah, 'Nuuk', Sun-Bleached Copper & Dye on Stretched Blanket, 2011

Ayan Farah, 'Eldfell', Volcanic Ash & Dye on Stretched Blanket, 2011

In passing, I'll just mention that all the images here were collected with my smashing new mirrorless camera (its a Canon, for those that care). Such toys don't exactly come cheap and I suppose it might seem like a profligate indulgence, were it not for the fact that I've always regarded a 'grown-up' camera as one of life's essentials. The old DSLR responsible for nearly every image on this blog to date, has effectively reached the end of its working life (bits are literally dropping off), and goes into retirement after perhaps a million depressions of its shutter. Here's hoping this new one lasts as well in the coming years. The fact that the dense text below is legible, from what was boiled-down to a pretty small JPEG file, suggests there's nothing too shabby about it so far. I just need to decipher all those menus now...

'We Grown-Ups Can Also Be Afraid' continues until 19 October at: Attenborough Arts Centre, University of Leicester, Lancaster Road, Leicester, LE1 7HA

Written without A.I. [For better or worse]

'The Basin': Art Trail 1' - 'Visible Form' [Draft 1.0]

 

All Images: Floating Harbour, Bristol, February - April 2023

‘Visible Form’:

Art has the capacity to draw us into mental and emotional places where we can go, let go, and come back. Inserted as a way-marker at the intersection of two such zones, this exhibit is typical of those earliest sculptural forays in what would become a significant international career [one in which such concerns remain constant]. If we can enter the area the forms occupy, we do so only to gain further experience of them and to confirm a sensation of space and volume which the sculpture offered from a distance.

 

Colour is totally demanding once it becomes a priority, and the cadmium imperative is fully condensed here [occurring as a bright yellow coating on sphalerite or siderite, deposited by meteoric waters]. It is an important truth that emphasis upon colour has helped to liberate the modern artist from particular circumstances in his search for general [natural] truths in personal experience.The piece constitutes a delectable arbitrary imposition upon the landscape, but degrees of purpose still accrue [errant incursion is denied; a bootlace may be tied]. The sculpture invites this kind of close involvement. The scale is always a human scale, and the occasional apparently irrational detail serves to hold our attention at close quarters. In this context, botany can never be ruled out, although plants have no excretory mechanism for cadmium.

Jasper Johns: Painting By Numbers

Jasper Johns, '0 Through 9', Oil on Canvas, 1961, Tate Gallery Collection

Writing the previous post caused me to reflect a little more on the aesthetic/poetic aspects of numbers (or more precisely, 'numerals' - I suppose), in opposition to, or in parallel with, their purely functional aspect.  For all my childhood alienation from the operations of 'number-machines', as experienced through the discipline of mathematics, the intrinsic beauty of  numerals, as visual signs/symbols (or even, more simply - as shapes) cannot be denied. And, just as the combination of individual letters into words, sentences, and whole texts provides an infinitely variable system for explaining experience, so does the sequencing of numbers, and their operations one upon another, supply a means of accounting for it of equally boundless scope. Thus, it becomes impossible not to find oneself drawn into a kind of semiotics of the numerical.

Even the simple ordering of numbers into the standard counting sequence suggests a sense of both expansion and forward motion expanding beyond the simple quantifying of goods or financial beans. Viewed in this manner, we must soon recognise their vital role in rationalising our apprehension of both space and time. This clearly leads, in one direction, towards physics - a realm in which the entirely consistent system of numbers quickly becomes paramount in the service of understanding the universe. However, in another direction, it may just as easily  lead to Philosophy - a field in which strictly striated/gridded structures give way to more rhizomatic conjunctions, and the fraught relationship between quantitive and qualitive world views comes into full focus [1.].

 

Jasper Johns, 'Numbers In Colour', Encaustic & Newspaper on Canvas, 1958-59, 
Albright-Knox Gallery, Buffalo, New York

...Which mostly just makes me think - what a wonderful excuse to revisit the work of Jasper Johns for a brief spell. He is, after all, an artist in whose work the deployment of numerals and numerical sequences as visual motifs, often seems to point to such ideas with far more intrinsic poetry then any stumbling verbal attempt might achieve. For all that one might feel some sorrow over a certain perceived dilution of Johns' powers as the decades rolled by, there is a distilled intensity and philosophical scope in his earlier work which I still find irresistible. The many and various number-based pieces he produced throughout his career are often the purest epitome of that. Certainly, there can be few other artists who have quite so seductively united the worlds of visual beauty, semiotics and functional numbering systems within their work.

Jasper Johns,  'Zero To Nine', Encaustic & Newspaper on Canvas, 1959,
Museum Ludwig, Cologne

Jasper Johns, '0 Through 9', Lithograph, 1960, Minneapolis Institute of Art

Jasper Johns, 'Figure 5' (From 'Black Numeral' Series), Lithograph, 1968, Museum of Modern Art, NYC

Jasper Johns, 'Numbers', Cast Aluminium, 2007, Courtesy: Matthew Marks Gallery, NYC

[1.]: This also makes me value my childhood notion of 'Twenteen' all the more. Not only did it feel/sound right at the time - but might also be seen as a valuable randomising factor, and essential disruptor of the grid.

Unboxing 3: Dangerous Goods Manifest

 

Leicester, December 2020

There's probably a limit to how many of these workplace-derived 'Unboxing' posts I can belabour you with - at least without a bit of creative manipulation of the source imagery.  Nevertheless, I remain deeply attracted to the honest simplicity and truth-to-materials of the honest brown cardboard box, and to the emblematic symbology and potentially allusive texts which adhere to them.  These particular examples were especially 'thrilling' as (unusually), they contained a potentially hazardous chemical, and demonstrate the double-boxing, stern, graphic warnings, and 'Dangerous Goods Manifest' attendant on such a deadly cargo.  For the record, the product in question was a single bottle of Isopropanol - hardly plutonium, but at least: no couriers were harmed in the making of this blog post.

As soon as I have unpacked such consignments, the boxes generally get casually stacked in the corner of the classroom - awaiting recycling.  Even at this scale - with only two elements of modest scale, a distinctly totemic quality begins to emerge.  Indeed, I'm reminded that this is exactly how the format of 2018's 'Sentinel' sculptures originated - almost by accident.

'Sentinel' Sculptures, 'Visions of a Free-Floating Island', Surface Gallery, Nottingham,
September 2018

Perhaps there may be some tentative connection between those pieces, and the spate of mysteriously emerging monoliths, at various international locations, a couple of weeks back.  The reporting of those (beginning with what may have been some kind of oblique art-prank in remotest Utah) appears to have dwindled already.  That makes me think the whole thing was little more than an online meme that failed to really catch hold - particularly as the vaguely unworldly examples at a handful of locations, were joined by reports of a puerile, and far-too-representational, phallic example in Germany.  I suspect we'll soon file the memory of 2020's monoliths away with crop circles, and the like (if we remember them at all).  It does emphasise the enduring fascination of totemic, columnar forms, in the human imagination, nonetheless.

Meanwhile, the primordial urge to stack up cardboard boxes; well, that's something altogether more profound - clearly.

Oh, You Know - Something About Framing My Shots, Or My Latest Posts, Or Fulfilling My Goals...

All Images: West Nottingham, April 2019

Much of the imagery on this Blog originates in the heart of one city or another.  At other times, the focus may be more on the suburbs.  But here, we're definitely at the very fringes of Nottingham - outside its western ring road, and right at the margin where development filters out into farmland.  

But, as others have pointed out, 'The Edgelands' are a distinct, liminal kind of territory, and just as rich in potential artistic stimuli, as the inner core of many cities.  Edgelands may be much less concentrated, frenetic, or super-heated than city centres, but they can be fascinatingly nuanced and ambiguous - often with a distinct poetry of their own.

Viewed in the right way, they can even conjure an environment in which the everyday and mundane start to feel intriguingly alien or mysteriously enchanted in some unexpected way.  This strange sector of interlocking geometry definitely felt that way, on the eerily still, and  humid day in April, when I came upon it.

Of course, if one takes a step back from all the Psychogeographic daydreaming, and thinks in purely visual terms once more, these images also provide an ideal opportunity to just indulge my love of linear geometry, with all its glorious, abstract potentiality.

It started me thinking about how, in formal or pictorial sense, a line is often just a notional boundary between two distinct portions of space, or between a space and a not-space, perhaps.  For two dimensional artists, lines are essentially a device for chopping up illusionistic space, rather than something actually perceived or definable, in the real world.  For a sculptor, however, they can become something tangible - literally delineating a portion of actual space, into which one might insert one's body, as well as one's imagination.  In a wholly found manner, that's also exactly what these goal frames are achieving - and with a pleasing complexity.

Of course, by photographing them - and presenting them via this most illusionistic of media, I am returning them to the realm of the purely pictorial.  It also occurs to me that, particularly in those three shots wholly without a background of sky or distant trees, you've pretty much got the history of Western picture-making, from Renaissance perspective, to Cubism, to geometric abstraction, playing out in a few dozen steel tubes and a patch of grass.

Back of the net...

Working Methods: 'This S(c)eptic Isle', 'Childish Things' 6

All Images: Work In Progress: 'Childish Things', Salvaged Trundle Toys, May 2019

I'd really thought I might be done with these crippled toy sculptures last year, not least - because they're pretty labour intensive, and I'm still struggling to find storage room for the first lot.  Plus, I genuinely hoped that the undeniably Brexity subtext behind much of the 'TSI' project might feel old hat by now.  

But, since when has making art (particularly of this kind) been about doing the sensible or practical thing?  And, as far as the second point goes, all I can say is "Fat Chance!"  The fact that what may have started as a petulant act of national self-harming, now feels symptomatic of a much more sinister, and intensifying, far-right zeitgeist - makes it seem all the more vital to take some account of the whole sorry situation.  Ultimately, externalising one's anxieties has to be healthier than internalising them - I think.  Trust me, if this all, one day, seems like so much irrelevant paranoia - and to have thus been a complete waste of time, no one will be more pleased than me.  

But, for now, as the weather gradually improves, and the day-lengths extend, I find myself once more, out in the back yard - with abrasive paper, dust mask, and cans of grey primer.  You just can't tell some people...

Working Methods: 'This S(c)eptic Isle: Childish Things 5'

All Images: 'Childish Things 5' (Work In Progress), Salvaged Trundle Toy & Spray Enamel

To be honest, I hadn't necessarily intended to make any more of these 'Childish Things', toy sculptures.  On purely practical level, they're pretty bulky to store, and the house is already pretty congested with the existing four (amongst a lot of other stuff).  In addition, whilst I've always felt generally positive about the 'Childish Things' pieces - they were, actually, the least commented upon element of my work, when exhibited, last year.

Nevertheless, when this little beauty was abandoned, practically on my doorstep - it just felt too much of a gift to ignore.  Of course one thing leads to another, and what would be the point of collecting such stuff - if not to use it constructively?  It's perhaps typical of my current, slightly unfocussed approach to my work, just now - that this one has reached its current state without excess urgency, and whilst working on other unrelated things. That in itself is quite pleasing - as the fettling and finishing of the toys themselves has always been the most labour intensive part of the 'Childish Things'.  The trike, as I found it, was actually even more complete than you see it here - allowing plenty of scope for some creative surgery, prior to the normally tedious prepping, priming and inevitable addressing of drips in my ham-fisted spray-job.

Another hunch was that the initial Brexity vibe of the 'TSI' project might be limiting its currency by now.  Would that were the case.  Even whilst working on the first flush of associated pieces - my instinct was to expand the scope of the project into a more open-ended 'how we live now' kind of enterprise wherever possible.  Two years ago, who could have honestly predicted that my fears of becoming tripped up by a narrow single issue might be so unfounded - or that the particular issue in question would consume the national debate in quite such a dispiriting manner.

If, as now seems inevitable, the ramifications of our current political crisis continue to ripple outwards for the foreseeable future - then adding to the existing 'TSI' work may not feel  quite so irrelevant after all.  There was always more that could have been done, and there is clearly still no shortage of raw material, or indeed national absurdity, to fuel it all.  And, if there is going to be more, I guess I should be looking for further opportunities to exhibit it all again, in the not too distant - assuming anyone can still afford to keep a gallery space open after March, of course...   

Completed Sculpture: 'This S(c)eptic Isle': 'Childish Things 4 (Mistaken)'

'Childish Things 4 (Mistaken)', Salvaged Trundle Toy, Salvaged Cardboard Boxes,  Spray Enamel,
Acrylics, Paper Collage, Official Notifications, Gas Capsules, Adhesive Tape & French Polish,
90 cm X 81 cm X 57 cm, 2018

Amongst all the stacking of cardboard boxes to create my ‘Sentinel’ sculptures, over summer – I also found time to put together the fourth of my ‘Childish Things’.

‘Childish Things 4 (Mistaken)’ had lagged a bit behind its fellows, largely because of the time it took to prep. and achieve anything like a presentable paint finish on its scuffed plastic bodywork.  Anyway, I got there in the end, and it was indicative of the serendipity characterising this whole phase of work, that - just when I needed it, I found a sturdy box large enough to support that white lump, whilst also balancing it well, visually.  In fact, there were actually two of them – the other providing a plinth for ‘Childish Things 3’.

I don’t buy the idea of a sentient ‘Universe’, but if such a thing were presiding over our affairs, it would seem to have mostly smiled on this first concerted foray into sculpture over recent months.  As a mostly two-dimensional artist (to date), it’s easy to overlook how much of a sculptor’s [1.] time is spent sourcing materials, solving constructional/technical issues, fighting the laws of physics, and just plain laboring.  I think I can regard myself as fortunate that, while making these pieces, most things fell into place fairly easily, without too many practical frustrations.  I actually got some kind of result with each of the sculptures I set out to make this year - which definitely feels like a reason to be cheerful.  I’ll let others decide how artistically successful I’ve been (or if indeed, it was at all worth it).

As before, there are various questions one might ask, in an attempt to interrogate ‘4’ for possible meanings or interpretations.  Of course, they are really for the viewer to ask, but some that occur to me might include…

• As with the other ‘Childish Things’, this vehicle is clearly going nowhere fast.  Does its parlous state indicate that the wheels really are dropping off?

• And, if that is true – might it be the fault of rough terrain and treacherous conditions, or is it down to neglect or faulty manufacture?

• Perhaps even more dispiritingly – could it have been deliberately sabotaged?

• The jolly yellow triangles and plasticised notifications, borne by untaxed vehicles are a common sight in many streets nowadays.  Must we assume this is another?  If so – was it laid-up as a result, or penalised for a SORN infringement?  At what stage in that process was the missing wheel removed?

• What might this say about our nation’s ability and willingness to fund its public services and infrastructure through tax-raising?  Is there a correlation between the rutted, pot-holed tarmac that threatens everyone’s suspension, and the number of untaxed vehicles beside the pavement?

• Are those tax-averse motorists waging some misguided, Clarksonite fight for personal ‘freedom’, on political/philosophical grounds, or just selfishly trying to duck out of paying their communal dues?  Alternatively – are they simply reliant on a vehicle to commute to a job that doesn’t pay enough to cover the running costs?

• If it’s an offence to remove an Untaxed Vehicle notification – is there a penalty for salvaging already-detached ones from the gutter, to apply to a sculpture?

As I post this, ‘Childish Things 4’ (along with its fellows, and accompanying ‘Sentinels’), is already wrapped, in advance of exhibition.  Shaun Morris, Andrew Smith and I will be installing our show, ‘Visions Of A Free-Floating Island’, at Surface Gallery, Nottingham in a week’s time - ready for our Opening Event on Friday 14 September.  We’ll be up for two weeks, including three Saturdays, so, if you’re in the Nottingham area, and want to see what all the fuss is about or yourself – you know what to do… 

[1.]:  Let's face it - 'Sculpture' is a bit grand a descriptor for what I'm doing here, really - isn't it?  I guess, if anything - I'm acting as an assembler ('Assemblist'?) really.  Do any of these distinctions even matter any more?