I went into Colchester to have my hair cut, and do a few other bits and bobs, so I went and had a look at the new visual arts centre, on a day when I wasn't viewing against the clock while the remaining minutes on my car park ticket ticked away. I'm afraid I'm still not convinced. I've been struggling to be open minded and enthusiastic about it, but, well, oh dear. Dearie me.
The skateboarders have gone from outside the entrance, and a notice from the council says that regretfully, they have been banished as they were causing too much damage to the seating. This suggests a failure at the outset to investigate what skateboarders do, what forces their boards might exert on the built environment, and what the seating would need to be like to cope. A slalom has been set up with little bright green cones, around which one solitary youth was roller skating with skill, earphones in place. Bowling alone. It wasn't exactly the happy picture of interactive, intergenerational community activity the designers probably had in mind.
Once inside, my initial impression that there was a lot of corridor was reinforced. It could be a nice venue for a party, with lots of people talking and eating and drinking, and maybe some music, but today there was no music or food or drink, and not many people. Due to failure of forward planning I'd already been to Millets and bought a new gardening fleece and some thermal leggings before getting as far as firstsite, and as I advanced across the (large and almost deserted) lobby a member of staff rushed forward and pushed a gallery guide into my hand. I thanked her and put it in the Millets bag. The lobby, while short of people, was by no means empty because there is a one-to-one scale replica of one of the Statue of Liberty's hands in there. It's very large.
Down the long curving corridor (windows at ground level, sloping white walls unfortunately already picking up scuff marks) lie the exhibition rooms, after the Roman pavement. This is a mosaic originally found in that same spot, then exhibited in Colchester castle for years, and now back where it was originally. It is set below floor level with glass plates over it. The glass was rather smeary this morning and could have done with a good wipe. It is a perfectly nice mosaic, as Roman mosaics go.
There is a room hosting part of the University of Essex's collection of Latin American art. I don't know why the university has such a collection, even after going to the museum, but the ones on show were twentieth century prints. I liked some and not others, as is the way with most collections of prints. If I spoke Spanish and knew more Latin American history I'd probably have got more out of some of them.
The other exhibition rooms mostly contained the sort of contemporary art that annoys me at the Tate and the Royal Academy. The title of the show is Camulodunum, and it is meant to make us think about Colchester's history, and the relationship between past and present.
There was a series of pictures of people connected with Colchester, all with captions in an incredibly tiny font. There were Stuart kings, which is fair enough, given that Colchester was besieged in the civil war, but also Victoria and Albert, who as far as I know were only connected with Colchester to the extent that Victoria was queen for 63 years and performed a lot of royal engagements in that time. There were modern photographs of Damon Albarn (fair enough, Blur is a Colchester band) and his family, and the Courtauld family (also fair dibs, I think they helped fund the place) and pictures of babies with their parents and grandparents. Now I have looked at my booklet I see that the artwork covers a broad spectrum of imagery, supporting the simple thesis that we are all connected.
Then there were two shiny bicycles with milk churns on them, by an Indian artist. The booklet says that these copies bear the imperfections of the original, translating functional things into highly crafted objects that appear to serve a more sacred or monumental purpose. You don't say. I saw lots of bicycles in Cambridge. Some were chained to lamp-posts. Some were missing their front wheels, stolen or removed by the owners for security? Some were being ridden. Some of the cyclists were wearing helmets and had prepared for their journey. Others weren't and hadn't. I'm sure that can be laden with loads of symbolic meaning if we just stop and think about it for a few minutes.
There were some pieces of scrap car leaning against a wall, with a Roman helmet made out of scrap. There were some wavy lumps of coloured concrete stuck to another wall. There were clear resin lumps with rubbish cast inside them, reminding me vaguely of a craft kit I had as a child. The aim then was not to get air bubbles around your encapsulated flower or whatever it was, but I'm sure the rubbish represented something, although the booklet doesn't attempt to explain what. There was a pile of crushed white stones divided by mirrors. And some more things, but I'm beginning to get upset thinking about them.
There was a really nice piece of flint, with holes in it. That had belonged to Henry Moore. It was a good flint. I liked that.
I didn't stop for a cup of coffee in the cafe, or look at the shop, because, frankly, I wasn't in the mood. It was a lovely sunny day outside, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had other stuff to do, and was paying to park, and would rather go and get on with everything else. Anyone who has read Cardunculus for a while will know that I don't like or get most conceptual art, so don't be too influenced by what I say, but go to firstsite and judge for yourself.
I know what it reminded me of. The other night we watched Barton Fink on DVD. This is an early Coen Brothers film, about a young playwright who is persuaded to go to Hollywood on the strength of having achieved one Broadway success. Things do not go well for him in Hollywood, and I won't say more than that to avoid plot spoiling. Barton Fink's big idea as a playwright is that he wants to portray the struggles, hopes, feelings and ambitions of the common people. The joke is that he knows practically nothing about the common people, and is incredibly patronising towards them. I felt as though too many of the artists represented in this exhibition were Barton Finks, who having been to art school were telling common people like me things which as common people we would never manage to work out for ourselves. Like that people are connected to other people by birth and social ties. Like that some objects are made to be thrown away, and some objects last for a long time. Like that when you are presented with a sculpture you want to look at the other side as well as the side facing you. Thanks a bunch, guys. As soon as I've manage to drag my knuckles off the floor I'll have a think about what you say.
Barton Fink is a very good film, by the way, and Millets have 40% off, if you need a new fleece.
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