Ice Sea

http://studiolog.heriot-toun.co.uk/7sails_3_jimhamlyn.php

Lunacy

I forgot to post a link to this:

Actually I didn't so much forget as I was disappointed that the site had misrepresented my work.

Less than a year ago I was invited to be involved in a project of proposals for artworks to be sited on the moon. There were no plans to actually carry out the proposals but it was always intended that there would be a website to present them. I really liked the futility of the idea of working towards something which would never be completed, so I agreed. After indulging a number of ridiculously megalomaniacal thoughts (well why not, it’s the moon after all?!) a better idea began to germinate.

A year previously I had been invited to be a speaker at a conference in Latvia and as an exercise to break the ice, the delegates were asked to find something on their person - an object of some kind - which expressed something about them. We were then asked to place these objects on the table, and one by one we were asked to talk about ourselves with reference to the object we had chosen. I hate these kinds of group activities and I tried quickly to think of some alternative and unconventional thing that I could contribute – the more objectionable or subversive the better. After rummaging in my bag for what felt like too long as other people placed pens, cameras, notebooks and pieces of jewelry on the table I happened to feel the grubby granularity of dirt at the bottom of my bag. Great, a piece of dirt, I thought, perfect! I carefully lifted up the grain of dirt between thumb and forefinger and placed it upon the table amongst the other assorted objects.

One by one each person spoke about themselves and their objects and one by one the items disappeared from the table. As this was going on, I was finding it very difficult to concentrate on what each person was saying, caught up as I was with the thought of my tiny speck of dirt and all the wonderful clever things I could say about it and its inextricable relevance to the context of the conference. Eventually there was an all-but-empty table in front of us and to my simultaneous surprise, disappointment and relief the convener gave some concluding remarks and proceeded to the next item on the agenda.

At that moment the realisation hit me: my grain of dirt was simply too small to be seen. For all intents and purposes the table was empty and there was no one else left to speak. I was saved! No need to show off or embarrass myself and no need to continue with the mental gymnastics necessary to make sense of this insignificant speck of dirt. But my relief was short lived. Inevitably someone had been paying attention to what was going on; someone with a need for fairness, balance and equality; someone who had registered a nagging absence in the numbers. I felt it before they spoke, a faint rising consciousness of having been found out and the realization that my quiet but glorious moment of reprieve was about to end. “Where’s your object?” they asked inquisitively, pointing a finger and interrupting the convener. Suddenly all eyes were on me and everyone was murmuring-

“Oh yes, what about you, where’s your object?”

No matter I thought, I’ve had plenty of time to work out what I’m going to say, it won't be that difficult. Confidently, I reached across the table to the tiny dot I could see waiting for me. With a moistened index finger I touched the speck and lifted it up to inspect it more closely.

“Here’s my object, it’s.. it’s a.. it’s a poppy seed!”

Proposal for 14ºN 32ºW Project:

To exhaustively document a single poppy seed using the most wide-ranging and exacting technologies currently available.

This documentation would take the form of measurements etc, of all dimensions, weight, surface-hardness (Mohs), moisture content, density, chemical composition, spectral properties, calorific value, surface-area, genus, year of production, country and region of origin, DNA etc. As many of these measurements as possible would be taken directly from the seed itself. The more invasive/destructive measurements would necessitate the use of seeds taken from the same batch (preferably the same plant).

The poppy seed would also be thoroughly mapped using 3D mapping, X-ray and conventional photography.

The resulting documentation would then be carefully archived and placed in safe storage on Earth. The poppy-seed itself would then be transported and deposited as near to the centre of location 14ºN 32ºW of the Moon as convenient.

J. Hamlyn, 2009

Can Creativity Be Taught?

In a far-flung corner of the internet I recently became caught up in a blog debate which started as a discussion about whether it’s possible to teach creativity. You can find the full (and rather lengthy) discussion at the following web address:

http://bitskis.com/?p=279

My interlocutor (Dyske Suematsu) has another site (dyske.com) with many essays on a range of subjects including philosophy, art and politics. This one in particular provoked me:

http://dyske.com/?view_id=917

Perhaps I’m simply being over sensitive – you’ll have to make up your own mind.

Digital Parentheses

Anonymity, Masks and Ink.

“And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality” -George Orwell, Why I Write, 1946

I woke up early last night and as sometimes happens when I wake early I found myself contemplating my dreams. One of the unusual things about my last dream was that it involved my brother. I can’t remember the last time had a dream which included my brother. He lives halfway round the globe and I hardly ever see or hear from him, despite the fact that we’re both involved in the arts. The reason that my brother featured in the dream is straightforward: I was looking at one of his web pages yesterday evening which features an aspect of his diverse practice - in this instance as a musician and performer. The dream itself wasn’t particularly dramatic or fanciful and there’s no need for a description, let alone my interpretation of it here. What’s important is that it set me thinking about my brother.

Something which didn’t feature at all in my dream but which I began to think about afterwards is my brother’s adoption of a masked persona for his musical output and performances. I’ve not discussed this with him so I’m unaware of his reasons for choosing to conceal his identity but I’ve begun to realise that there are parallels with my own previously concealed identity on this blog.

When I chose to start this blog it occurred to me to do it anonymously since I expected to be frequently critical of artworks, exhibitions and situations which I might otherwise feel uncomfortable about criticizing openly. I felt this might compromise my position or create unwanted bitterness towards me. As it turns out, I haven’t yet felt the need to be so pointedly critical, nonetheless it’s latent possibility was actually very liberating whilst also denying me the easy assumption, conclusion or excuse that I couldn’t write what I wished because I feared recrimination.

The other reason I chose anonymity is that it was my hope that anyone reading this blog would judge the writing on its own merits rather than whatever credentials I may (or may not) possess. Related to this is the knowledge that I’m by no means a practiced writer and therefore I’m a little unconfident about my abilities in this area and felt that anonymity might initially afford me the opportunity to write badly and get away with it! Of course, I always strive to write as well as I can and I spend a lot of my time trying to improve what I write but when I read other writers I’m frequently overwhelmed by the sheer inventiveness, eloquence and the apparent effortlessness of their output. Recently I’ve been reading a lot of George Orwell’s essays. I’ve previously always thought Orwell to be a rather genteel left-wing writer but essays like Politics and the English Language would surely lead anyone with the intention of putting a critical pen to paper to reconsider such an assessment. In this essay Orwell systematically demolishes an entire spectrum of lazy and hackneyed tendencies within political writing and by extension writing in general:

“When there is a gap between one’s real and ones declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like cuttlefish squirting out ink”

Anonymity, masks and ink - another thing dawned on me this morning: George Orwell also concealed his identity - didn’t you Mr. Blair?

Despite my reasons for initially choosing anonymity, I was always uncomfortable about it. Like many people I find anonymity almost instinctively suspect. People who choose to be anonymous are felt to have something to hide, whereas writers who choose a nom de plume (like Orwell) are not, strictly speaking, anonymous at all: they’ve simply created a new identity as opposed to concealing one.

Another advantage of choosing a pseudonym is that it avoids the spurious mystique of anonymity. It provides a clean foundation upon which to construct a new identity but it also creates an emphasis on maintaining the name and cultivating its reputation such that the name and its owner become indistinguishable.

So why didn’t I simply adopt a pseudonym? It was always an option and certainly a better one than no name at all, but somehow that wasn’t ideal either. Sometimes it’s necessary to create a neutral space to experiment, test your approach and develop the confidence to continue: a gestation period where the content of the egg is not so much concealed as unformed and in need of the cover and protection of its thin shell.

So, as you can see, I’ve decided to attach my name to this blog. You’ll probably also notice that I’ve chosen simply to initialise my first name. If you’ve arrived at this blog from my webpage you will know who I am already anyway – if not, there’s a link under my profile. The truth is, in any situation a name will only tell you so much - the rest will always need to be determined by deeds.