Over the Edge

While extending apologies for not keeping up with the Blog for a while, I'll tell you I've been extremely busy - getting an all-over tan is hard work! Also I've been travelling again and working on some new projects. This week I'm in Antalya, a city of over one million people situated on the Mediterranean coast. Although I'm here interviewing I've managed to take some time to see the sights and will post a few photos as soon as I get a chance to write something and upload to this site. All the best, and seriously, stop watching television and get out into the world!

B&B .. A Jolly Sporting Summer

Summer has officially arrived, unpacked its bags and popped the cork on a bottle of chilled wine. Shirts are off; shorts and sandals are on, and tinted glasses that shield the eyes from the searing brightness of the long days complete the wardrobe.

Yes, it’s been an eventful few months, and that doesn’t even include how exciting it’s been for the Queen celebrating 60 years of uninterrupted service to the crown, the great football nations participating in the European Cup or the Olympic torch making its way around Britain in the hands of celebrities, war veterans and patriotic volunteers on its way to London for the grand spectacle of sporting champions and logo-competitive corporate sponsorship.

Between teaching at the elegant and exclusive resort hotel with its 35 swimming pools, squeezing in early summer youth classes with students from the Ukraine, working on my tan and planning a relocation for the autumn, I’ve been back and forth to the UK a couple times and travelled a bit along the coastline of Turkey and islands of Greece to visit favourite sites of interest.

And of course, I’ve been trying to stay in touch with friends near and far and dropping in to galleries and museums whenever and wherever I can.

It was fortunate that after a few days doing coursework in Birmingham I had some free time, providing me the opportunity to see DaVinci’s drawings as well as so many other fine artists on display in the museums this second largest of England’s cities has to offer.The contrast of seeing both Paolozzi and Leonardo, a man who helped change the approach to drawing, together yet from their separate eras, was spellbinding.

I also stopped in to a few commercial galleries to see if there was anything of interest and nearly purchased a limited edition Dali sculpture, but alas I have already stored most of my small collection.

Hopefully, later this year I’ll be arranging to pick-up a beautiful and vibrant painting I saw displayed on Simon Withers’ website,

though I could opt for a limited edition Billy Connolly line drawing or naively executed watercolour by the prodigiously talented Bob Dylan!

Once again though, it was the masters of colour and form that inspired me, and some of the contemporary artists on display reminded me just how worthy modern art can be when connected to significant subject matter.

Whether it’s the rough public sculpture of Anthony Gormley (with fortunate placement of a bird's nest 'halo' behind) or the neat placement of a William Wilberforce likeness (the anti-slavery campaigner spurred on by his faithful wife whose absence is notable), Birmingham clearly appears to value visible arts.

The emblematic façade of the Bullring shopping mall, the stunning Symphony Hall and National Institute buildings greet visitors wandering along the inner city canals. If architecture is your interest, this town has constructions of the exceptional and unusual.

With restaurants and shops aplenty there’s always something to entertain those with cash to burn in Birmingham. A season of festivals and concerts provides an endless variety of music and arts for the culture-minded, while pubs and clubs cater to the noisy after-hours set looking to drown in tasty cocktails and dance to the latest thumping rhythms.

I only recently started going out in this city, but I heartily recommend a couple days sightseeing and exploring for those who manage to escape the pretentious madness of London this summer.

It seems a time of crisis, whether global economic disruption or military conflicts against apparently threatening nations, creates a need for the pomp and circumstance of national flag-waving entertainment.

 

The Romans were expert at diverting public opinion during unsettled times through the use of circus performance and staged gladiator battles, and the states of today (though they’ve yet to learn the importance of bread for everyone) have learned that lesson well. After all, who doesn’t enjoy the spectacle of sports personalities strutting across our television screens; and the regalia of imperial symbolism and celebrity fanfare paraded through the streets do wonders for the loyalty of the masses overwhelmed by the overheads of an ordinary life.

With audiences regularly in the hundreds of millions each of these glorified happenings provide a sensational opportunity for the multinational companies to bombard us with yet more vaguely enticing commercials for all kinds of things we didn’t know we needed till we couldn’t live without them.

As the running shoe and leisurewear manufacturers gear up their factories magazines go into overdrive to promote the high standard of living that most people aspire to attain. Gorgeous models, stick figures in designer outfits, shake their asses and rattle their on-loan jewellery to persuade the celebrity-obsessed hoi polloi that all it takes to be somebody important is the correct seasonal accessory.

Hand-held technological devices assembled in developing nations are becoming increasingly essential to our every waking moment, and their ubiquitous appearance alongside athletes waving medals suggest that you too can be successful with the power of today’s media at your fingertips.

Middle-eastern airlines and specialty beer brands compete in neon and flash lighting across advertising hoardings around the fringes of major arenas for our hard-earned cash, transferred electronically of course.

With the right razorblade, tasty nibble or exclusive scent of some Hollywood heroine, anyone it seems can be part of the club. Sleek, gas-guzzling autos designed by those with more available resources but less common sense than most environmentally sensitive people, are promoted on billboards and in video games played by children. Subsidised by petroleum conglomerates to race across computer displays driven by recognisable faces these pollution machines are heating the world that our constantly running a/c units try to cool down in a race to equalise the ecosystem.

Pop stars happily dance onto the stages of the mandatory commencement concerts and groovy summer festivals and sing of love and consumerism under the blasting fireworks of closing ceremonies for princely sums, as overt advertisers sell yet more reasons to accumulate plastic trash and be part of the all-too-cool-for-school in-crowd.

Yes, the bold and the beautiful are radiating wealth and positively glowing in the beacon of light that is financial freedom.

The eternal torch, that icon of liberty to a synthetic world, is still snaking its way round the Isle of Britain and only recently passed through Derby and Nottingham where friends and family gathered to watch it wind through the streets on its way to the capital city.

As the world awaits the Olympic games, many in less fortunate circumstances suffer through the ongoing oppression caused by famine, greed and war. We should give that a thought.

Millions are starving in scorched central African nations while renegade soldiers turned politicians endlessly debate and negotiate the best deals for themselves in the exploitation of mineral rights in these parched locations. Some of these bastards (oops, I mean international representatives) were even invited to politely dine with the Queen of England at her sixtieth anniversary banquet, and pop-up occasionally to celebrate royal weddings and such, so obviously they’re important as business partners and we shouldn’t complain about the heaps of bodies of dead children in mass graves whose blood is on their hands. Maybe that’s why Her Majesty always wears gloves.

The Formula One calendar races into England for the annual event next week and no doubt all the best people will be in attendance. With so much up for grabs in the reputation stakes it will be yet another highlight of a summer that has Andy Murray thrashing his way through Wimbledon and British drivers topping the F1 leader board.

All this excitement in one summer for a country dealing with ‘austerity measures’ put in place by the barely elected coalition government just seems so very antithetical to the economic difficulties that define the entire state of affairs. There’s a serious depression in European banking circles, people are being made poor and out of work, and there’re wars in places where real people are dying, not to mention a lack of funding for the National Health Service and .. oh, never mind, let’s have a parade! There’s plenty to choose from this year.

Even though winter was long over when last I was in England and the sun was shining warmly throughout my stay, it was still cool enough in the evenings to require a jacket. I spent evenings surrounded by friends old and new around the comfort of a log fire; accompanied by the familiar flavour of locally brewed ale they reminded me why I still enjoy visiting that damp and windy isle.

For all its faults it is a special place and tourists continue to flock to its white cliffs and ancient castles, its massive medieval cathedrals and gothic towns, its trendy and exclusive shopping districts and fashionable nightspots, the famous landmarks and recent attractions and of course everyone hopes for a glimpse of the Queen or, at least, Pippa’s derriere.

Time rolls on and the celebratory occasions that mark the passage of ages are repeated for each successive generation, allowing those who cling to rocks against the sirens’ wail to believe in the special presence of their moment. No amount of sporting leisure or political exercise can turn back the clock of history, and many people are slowing awakening to a realisation of the counterfeit truth behind these extravagant gestures of the privileged.

Competitions are essential to sport – the difference between other leisure activities and sport is the arena of challenge against another participant. But competition has no place in the arts. Whether poetry, music, painting or film, arts are subjective and personal and certainly can’t be evaluated on results in the same manner as games.

To attempt to play out the arts in a forum of competition is always value-laden and biased according to opinion and personal preference of style – who can say whether Magritte is better than Rubens or Titian better than Degas, Bowie better than Sinatra or Beyonce better than Ella, Whitman better than Ovid and Keats better than Goethe or Coppola better than Kurasawa?

Let's not even discuss oranges; as the John Everett Millais painting 'The Blind Girl' illustrates it's difficult to describe the beauty of a rainbow but it can be equally exacting to capture it visually. First shown in 1856 this moving now resides in Birmingham. Though a pre-Raphaelite he painted landscapes and portraits equally with another of my favourites 'Bubbles' at the Royal Academy in London.

Tennis and football are determined in a match played between equals to determine a winner; the arts are a different animal altogether and should never be confused with the activity of competitive sport lest they defeat themselves with the politics of opposition. Then again, as everyone knows when art is bad, agreeing on what is better or best is purely futile and locks one into politics rather than creativity. Collaboration but not committee is the more fruitful option.

It is high time we gracefully accept that we’ve moved on from spectacles of status and changed course, or we become caricatures of the equality and freedom our ancestors strove so hard to achieve. To those in the future who will need real progress and maturity of decision-making to manage the complications of their time, this generation will doubtless appear a superficial example of corruption, consumption and waste.

Life continues in spite of crisis and age and time are no barriers to discovery or experience for those who expect something more meaningful than the circus of daydreams populated by soiled performers of transparent ancient rites and self-congratulatory corporate puppets.

Of course it’s time to enjoy the frivolous festivities of summer, I certainly do, and for now we should all feel free to laugh in the face of adversity even as it encroaches on our everyday lives.

We can dance in the sunshine to the music of love, for this is our time on the earth and we should soak up the pleasures it has to offer, as fruitless as some of the activities may occasionally appear. However, keep in mind that in this age of competing austerity and unbelievable wealth, when some live in luxury and others die for lack of food, in the cognitive dissonance of contemporary society where we turn on the news to be assaulted with horror before a karaoke night out at the pub, the piper is the one calling the tunes, and for sure he’ll want to be paid when the sun goes down and the music fades; and the price will be: our future.

*     *     *

Northern Lights

First impressions can last a lifetime, while beliefs and attitudes change over time. The opinions of others aren’t always based in a recognisable truth, nor do they always correspond to our own. One need only read reviews on a particular artist or work of art, a film, book or even a luxury hotel or new restaurant to see that evaluations differ according to expectation. Personal experience however, brings invaluable knowledge in formulating genuine understanding of the insider perspective. So it is with people we meet, befriend and even dare to love, and places we visit once as a tourist or a child but then return to after awareness of life has taught us about formulating belief based on instant judgments.

Yesterday I watched as the Olympic torch was carried in procession through the streets of that distinguished northern English city, Liverpool.

A token of freedom and power, the torch signifies continuity and the spark of genius that lives on in the soul beyond the reach of the forged glimmer of temporal concerns into the hopes of creative enterprise. At once a false god and a beacon of truth, the torch is recognised by people everywhere as a symbol of liberty and the spirit of the advocate come to bring light to the darkest regions. In the shadows of history Liverpool was indeed a sinister place, garnering riches from evil pursuits and feeding on the poor and frightened while amassing wealth through politically devious means. Time and the long experience of hard living however, can change everything, like love it can eventually break down the most stubborn and hardened hearts.

Liverpool is and has been many things to the world in its long and chequered history. To some it is a magical realm of extreme excess populated by happy-go-lucky shaggy-haired boys living in yellow submarines and blue meanies who have littered the overgrown strawberry fields with decrepit council houses and boarded-up shop fronts. Since its decline as a major hub of the slave trade and world-renowned shipbuilding it has evolved and changed into a centre of creativity and advanced its situation with a focus on tourism.

Along the Mersey riverfront are stunning new art galleries and hotels and striking postmodern architectural blocks that contain sporting arenas and concert halls, and a sense that the purpose and meaning of life that had escaped from this northern town long before the Beatles made their getaway has been renewed with a vigorous attempt at smart style and a desire for tourist dollars.

Among its crumbling façades are fashionably hip nightspots and must-see places of interest; museums to pop stars and maritime navigation, the slave trade and football heroes sit remarkably comfortably alongside chic restaurants and busy market stalls selling all manner of imported foodstuffs, retro-fashion clothing and locally crafted handiwork.

Boutiques and coffee houses now crowd the narrow and confined lanes that weave labyrinthine through the old town to the visually arresting indoor shopping arcades, Liverpool is learning to accentuate the best of what it once took for granted. These winding paths have become vogue and charmingly inoffensive in their glance back at a cumbersome past through the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia.

The stylish and expansive Albert Dock area with its massive Ferris wheel, grand amphitheatre and of course a well-stocked regional Tate gallery, has become a centre for modern culture.

Standing proud in the once dirty and teeming docks are masterpieces of contemporary art and magnificent glass and steel structures resplendent as the morning sun reflects off the river.

In the middle of this oasis of wealth one can feel a touch of higher-class elitist values emanating from this industrial capital of another era.

A visit to the Bluecoat gallery confirms the odd need some artists have to pour their personal anxieties onto the stone floors of history. This space, where Yoko Ono first exhibited in the UK is, like so many modern galleries, a place where boundaries are pushed but few actually succeed in defining style with human warmth. Go along if there is something happening, as the events are often better than the substance of the work.

In the dockside Tate one can be persuaded that contemporary art has depth and feeling to balance the intentional twisting of cultural roots. Paolozzi’s homage to Michaelangelo represents the broken dream of Western idealism while Dali’s surreal lobster phone sits comfortably beside Monet’s tranquil ponds and Warhol’s dancing girls.

Chamberlain’s scrap metal appears admirably intentional across from the manufactured needlessness of Lucas as Hockney and Moore compete side by side to reassemble an age of beauty in simplicity of form.

A special exhibition of writing and free expression was on display for those who wanted to partake; current national poet laureate Carol-Ann Duffy had installed a large whiteboard onto which visitors could randomly assemble prewritten words and phrases to create an immediate and temporary work of collective public poetry.

The two big football clubs that contend for dominance in this small city were playing each other on one of my recent forays into the heart of the metropolis, and challenging chants and friendly banter echoed across the street from the doorways of competing Irish pubs offering sports and fist fights for the hometown fans.

American franchises might attract more generic entertainment for most visitors to this friendly city, though in true northern spirit it’s still entrenched in ancient adversarial rivalries that transcend the understanding of most ordinary day-trippers.

Although springtime was pushing buds and green leaves from withered branches and the sun blessed me with its presence for most of my stay, the evenings chilled with a dash of rain that made ducking for cover in the world famous Cavern Club a sincere pleasure, and though definitely a kitsch attraction for those seeking reminiscence, it was one of the highlights of my visit to the old town.

With memorabilia from various stages of the Beatles’ career, especially the days playing as house band in this recreated underground hotspot with its coarse brick arches, one can easily spend hours and dollars relaxing with local ales to the note-perfect sound of tribute bands and look-alike performers.

The singers and musicians do their best to entertain with songs and witty Lennonesque asides, and we weren’t disappointed as everyone sang along with the classics and danced to the bebop rhythm of the rough and ready early numbers while black and white newsreels and films flickered like peeling paint on the bare stone walls. Continuing the theme, the next day we headed over to the Beatles museum and lost ourselves in the groovy pomp of sixties revivalism.

Educational and amusing the attraction is filled with artefacts from the heady days of self-discovery when people believed a song could change the world. It offers a chance to revisit memories or experience a sense of what it must have been like to chart a course to success only to discover that real accomplishment is but noble survival when proclaiming peace in the midst of those who prefer to forge weapons from ploughs than peace from promises.

During European capital of culture year 2008, I was invited to show some of my work in a fabulous gallery space near the Albert Dock. The presence of so many artists and musicians in the city at that time made me feel as though I too had accomplished something special. I’m looking forward to my return to show in Liverpool again, and perhaps next time I’ll stay for longer. 

My first impressions of Liverpool were favourable and it has continued to grow on me, rather like a friend one sees only occasionally but upon meeting again is comfortably talkative as if picking up the thread of an unfinished story.

I suppose this is partially due to the circumstances of my initial foray into the regentrified docklands area, its up and coming attitude and the sense of history around every corner, and also because Liverpool itself is a hospitable place with so much to do and see.

Some people give a great first impression and we are instantly taken with them, but then they leave us with regrets when we discover they aren’t who we thought or hoped they would be, while others impress us with their integrity and grow into lifelong friends; Liverpool is the friend you want to see again.

 

Liverpool welcomes the stranger, invites honest appraisal and holds its head up as a city in transition from the gloomy age of reason and the time of industrial invention to the colourful era of creation and personal discovery.

The beacon of light that shines across the Mersey today will delight and inspire all visitors to this at-once grimy and glittering urban centre. A torch has been lit and the spark of the wonder of tomorrow lives in the rejuvenated hearts of those who call Liverpool home.

Although I’m not a local I feel connected to this wonderfully cosmopolitan city through creative association and endeavour, for surely wherever like minds gather to share thoughts and express positive and heartfelt emotions, in places where feelings and opinions are made tangible and the substance of dreams congeals through age and acceptance into an candid exploration of contemporary culture, I will be a welcome guest.

*     *     *

On the Wings of Age

Time flies when you’re having fun, so the saying goes, which means, to make a cliché true, I’ve been enjoying changes on wings of passing age. I might look older but I feel younger. Change is as good as a rest they say, and time is changing the world for me once again. Life over the past few months has been full of experiences reminding me who I am, where I’ve been and where I’m going, as well as throwing in a few interesting surprises that reminded me of other ideas I'd been harbouring in the back of my mind. It's time to look to the sun once more, hoist the sails and put to sea again.

Sometimes we go somewhere in attempt to discover our inner selves, and other times we leave our usual place behind to lose ourselves in the bustle of a different crowd or, perhaps seek a relaxing retreat to settle some emotional matter, giving us a chance to calm anxious thoughts. Some take a trip to feel the sun on their face or, like so many others I meet abroad, a break from the routine and standards of home simply to enjoy cut-price beer and cheap sex.

Occasionally, often by pure chance, we who seek something more meaningful find a place that opens our mind to new ideas on the course of life, provides a deeper understanding of the nature of culture or stimulates reflections on the value of time. Either way, our awakening to a new dawn of expectation can creatively and spiritually fulfil we who travel in the desire to grow and learn through a continual experience of withdrawal and interaction.

Leaving one town or country to go to another for a longer term entails both opportunities and risks, but a fresh challenge and the development of self that comes with the adventure can make all the difficulties worth the effort of making that change. I’ve made that change so often it has become a way of life, the life I love.

Since my last post on this Blog I’ve driven from the southern shores of the Aegean to the western banks of the Black Sea, travelled from the south coast of England to the northern hills during a week of auspiciously sunny days and thrown in a few other adventures for good measure. In January I swam contendedly in the warm sun-drenched waters of the Mediterranean and comically slid along icy grey streets on the Romanian border. During March I spent time visiting friends in the UK and taught a selection of classes to an interesting variety of people in several countries.

Taking time to do some self-reflection and personal investment I upgraded my teaching qualifications through courses in the UK and went along to some superb art exhibitions and concerts.

Trying new food always excites me and gives me ideas for improving my own culinary skills and lately that has been a real part of the adventure too. I’ve also begun a new project teaching English to the managers of a 5-star hotel based in Istanbul while continuing to educate my regular students at the language school here on the coast, and I’ve also squeezed in time to work on my own visual art, hopefully with a new imaginative vision, toward the aim of showing again later in the year.

I’m a person who needs objectives and goals to give me a purpose and reason. Unlike so many today I’m not obsessed with fame and celebrity, money and possessions or small town dreams of picket-fenced suburbia. I’ve been there and done that, as they say. I’m much more interested in the complete complex experience of living, while time allows.

This post being personal commentary I won’t be spending any additional words discussing the recent elections in France, where the left-leaning party has managed to oust the war supporters in favour of banking reform. But didn’t Sarkozy look miserable during his final laying of the wreath at the VE Day commemoration? Nor will I write about the vote in Greece, where the anti-austerity party is attempting to force a coalition to denounce negotiations over the Euro that have left so many struggling to survive.

Both these results are essentially a thumbing of noses at financial measures around Europe that have seen the banking class get richer while everyone else pays their catalogue of overdue bills, and reflect a growing trend of desire by ordinary people toward establishing accountability for these schemers. However, Britain needn’t worry, for ‘The Queen’ in all her jubilee splendour is opening parliament for the next term of conservative designs to suppress the meek for the good of the wealthy. But, not a word on the earthly campaigns of those entrusted with power; this is only about me.

No one knows what the future holds, but we plan and strive and work and participate in anticipation of the future for a better today tomorrow. Sometimes our hopes are fulfilled, other times we learn to adjust the expected result of the preparation. As John Lennon sang, “life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans,” and enjoying the life you create today is the best way to ensure you don’t miss out on what is happening as you think of tomorrow.

Too many people spend their time waiting for that to come day when they can enjoy life, and forget to experience the moment of now. One day I’ll have enough time to travel, one day I’ll have enough self-belief to write, one day I’ll have enough confidence to show my work, one day I’ll have enough money to buy the things I want, the occasion to take that course, self-assurance to leave this place and be with the one I love, and on and on .. so they say.

One day like some day is a vague postponement of action and a definite act of procrastination. It is an excuse for not engaging with the world and life. It separates the achiever from the loser, the go-getter from the do-nothing, those who smile in the sunshine from those who cry in the rain (unless of course you like the rain – where the daisy blooms!), those who engage with the world from those who sit in their garden and talk of things they’d do if only .. excuse after lazy excuse ..

I lost years of my life waiting for someone or something to come along and kick-start my stuttering motor back to life after a series of incidents left me feeling powerless and alone. Slowly I was finding a way back to my rightful position when another series of events altered the plan again. A spark of life had returned and just as steps were appearing beneath solid ground a mistaken notion walked in. I thought it would be smooth sailing with sunrise as my rudder and happiness directing a course to the stars. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a failed investment of time as I learned once again the hard lesson that not everyone is as honest as we expect, trust and loyalty are vague concepts to some, and pretty outside isn’t always a reflection of inside.

However, that exhausting experience freed me from the constraints of waiting for dreams to happen and I began to shape my own future again, a tomorrow where anything is possible and all things are available with properly focussed effort. I rediscovered inner strength and left behind what was only making raising myself from the shadows of depression an emotional struggle. To do this I had to get away from negative influences and darkly depressing pressures, to create something new and enduring for myself, to go back to a life that made a positive contribution to the world, a return to the self – then things began to happen to make life healthier and more pleasurable again.

Now, I love travelling once more, I love meeting people and sharing experiences, the friends who welcome me into their lives, moments spent in calm solitude knowing that no moment is forever, visiting various countries and cities, learning about cultural differences and similarities, coming home to the place I relax after a hectic day at work, a busy week on the road or an eventful month abroad. I love what I do to earn my daily bread, the places I go to do it and the people I encounter doing it. I love this creation I call my life; I love the art of living.

I’ve learned to eliminate from my life the people who don’t deserve my trust, the people who only value what I have to give rather than who I am in my heart, the people who want more than they are prepared to give in return, and those who lack due respect for my life choices. I’ve learned to surround myself with people who place worth in friendship, whose decisions are based in integrity, the things that assist me to do my work or make life tolerably comfortable, desires that fulfil ambitions and a respect for myself that supports my current activities and future dreams.

In contrast to the photos I'm posting, the sun is shining here, baking the lush green earth into hues of brown and red, and the temperature is soaring as summer approaches with its promise of longer days, tan muscles and lightening hair. The flocks of tourists are returning with their pink bellies and lust for all things tonic and loud. But for me life for me has become real again, and real is liberating, therapeutic and invigorating. Time waits for no one and as someone with something to offer I wait no longer, I look to the sun to inspire my travels and allow the winds of change to direct me toward my next destination.

So do yourself a favour, catch the fire, seize the love, free the dove and watch your spirit fly to lofty heights on the wings of age, because that’s where real life exists. Don’t wait for others or expect politicians or celebrities to do it for you. Learn to respect yourself and others; work to complement this world with your dreams of hope and truth then genuine happiness and success will follow as surely as the sun rises.

These photos were taken in January while exploring the edge of the Carpathians and the Black Sea - time permitting over the next couple of weeks I’ll update this page with a few photos and thoughts on my recent activities abroad. Until then, drop in and say hello or tell me your own story ..and if you keep an eye on my other Blog I'll probably post a new poem or two over the next couple weeks ..