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| 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.].
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| 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.
