EARTH FROM THE AIR

Art Lesson No.1: Earth From the Air 

Andy Warhol thought it was a good idea to separate the artist from the artwork – as far as possible. This idea made him a lot of money. 

Pete is trying to draw a bird from a scene in a film about Mexico. In the film, the bird has flown out of a thicket of trees and is circling above a sparsely-vegetated desert, where it has presumably spotted a rodent or reptile too small for us to see. 

Pete's attempts to pause the film at that point have only resulted in blurred images because the bird is moving too fast, so we send Kiri off to rummage for her Nikon in her chaotic studio and after what seems like an hour, during which time Pete makes many sketches of what he thinks the bird looks like, Kiri comes out with her digital SLR, adjusts the shutter speed, points the lens and fires the camera like a machine gun at the bird on the screen.

We show the shots to Pete, who is pleased they are almost identical to the bird he has drawn from memory. He checks the details carefully just to be sure and rubs out his mistakes. But with each rub, he slowly kills the life in his drawing.

There is something pure about the form of the bird: honed over millenia into a hollow-boned light-as-air shape-shifting quick-as-a-flash flying machine, with each glossy feather in perfect alignment and anthracite eyes focused sharply on the minutiae of the earth from 11,000 feet up in the air. 

And there is something pure about its movements: the swooping and gliding, circling and spiralling, although the bird’s aerial acrobatics serve only two primary purposes:  the pursuit of dinner and the survival of its species.

Pete feels the act of sketching is also pure- a simple transaction between the eyes and hand of the artist, creating an image with delicate strokes on the receptive surface of a virgin sheet of paper, but in this case there is nothing really pure about slavishly copying a photograph off a camera of a scene from a video copied from a movie originally made on celluloid film with a Super 8 camera. In fact there are five degrees of separation between Pete and the bird.

If Pete's partner Miri were to tackle the same subject, she would  probably paint the bird from the prey’s point of view: as a terrifying  apparition dropping from the sky;  raw nature, red in beak and claw. She would paint the bird with a big soft brush on an unprimed canvas with stains of watery colour in every shade of red from sienna to coral. 

If their seven-year-old son Lewin were to tackle the same subject, he would use bright felt tips to evoke the absurdity of the bird flapping its large wings to steady itself while carrying off its wriggling prey.

Pete traces his drawing onto a block of lino and with a sharp gouge carves a picture of the bird in flight with wing tips and tail feathers splayed and legs slightly retracted, against a background of sand dotted with agaves. Then he uses a press to make a monoprint of the lino cut and scans the print into his computer. He uses a special programme to make a repeating pattern of the picture in a number of colour-ways and he emails a selection of these to an artisan wallpaper manufacturer, who is paying Pete a small commission for every roll sold.

So you see, now there are another 7 degrees of separation between the artist and the wallpaper: Pete-sketch-tracing-linocut-monoprint-digitised design- wallpaper. 

Pete is very happy with the result and takes pride in its graphic qualities. But his art now serves two primary purposes:  the pursuit of dinner and the survival of his species. 

Art Lesson No.2: The Sculpture Club Bar and Grill 

Restaurant Review from the Soho Word, 28th October 2024: 

“The Sculpture Club, tucked in a basement in an alleyway off Greek Street, is fast becoming the hottest eaterie in Soho, now that Crossrail is disgorging late-night punters into the bright new remodelled butt-end of Oxford Street (recently scraped clean of rough sleepers). 

Brainchild of art collector and entrepreneur Florence Truff - herself a graduate of the Royal Academy School – the venue invites every customer to don a linen apron (which they can keep as a souvenir), and play with randomly-shaped pieces of notched timber from a box on their table.  Then, while enjoying the bespoke cocktails and eight courses of the innovative tasting menu (including the to-die-for venison carpaccio with Tuscan capers) or the meat-based a la carte mains (including house speciality the Gorgon Burger made with prime steak - chopped, not minced - topped with gorgonzola), the diners are encouraged to create sculptures: individually or collectively.

The customer who produces the most outstanding artwork, as decided by their fellow diners, does not have to pay for their meal. 

To create the right the mood, on a small, spotlit stage in the middle of the room, renowned artist Hedwig has created a series of performance pieces inspired by paintings from Picasso’s Cubist period.  She is accompanied by the  contemporary vibes of jazz duo Thyme and Motion: with Summer Thyme on keyboard and Arthur ‘Art’  Motion on alto sax.

Trip Adviser has already given this venue five stars, but be warned - the club is now taking bookings for October 2025, so get online fast!” 

A bunch of German students who have not done their research properly have taken a table in the corner, near our glass-fronted refrigerated cabinet which displays neat stacks of Aberdeen Angus sirloins and slabs of marbled Wagyu beef.  The meat will have to be eaten within a couple of days, or thrown away.

The students have brought in packets of Haribo sweets and have requested some tap water from the bar, but I am watching them.

I have a quick word with management and, instead of throwing them out, offer them each a mini gorgon burger free of charge, to demonstrate our hospitality and encourage them to order.

Max picks up his menu and quickly puts it down again. Then he takes a nicely shaped piece of wood from the box on the table and says to his companion, Ada “We have two choices:  we either go round the corner to McDonalds,  or we order everything on this menu and make a fucking brilliant sculpture.” 

Ada scans the room and discretely approaches the two nearest tables.  The diners are too busy eating and chatting to care about making art. Fat chance any of them would have to create a masterpiece. They’re happy to give Ada their construction kits.

Max orders three tasting menues and a couple of bottles of good Rioja and he, Ada and their friend Bruno set to work. 

On the stage, Hedwig is performing a piece called “Girl With Mandolin” based on the painting of the same name, which shows a naked woman playing a mandolin. The subject's face is seen in profile but also turned towards us. The repetition of the outlines of her face and limbs suggest a shifting of the viewer, not the subject. The features of her body and the stones of the wall behind her are planed and sharply faceted and almost indistinguishable from one another. She is becoming part of the wall and the wall is becoming part of her. 

Hedwig is naked except for a strategic mandolin hanging from a slim leather strap across her chest.  To convey the sense of a shifting viewpoint and the disintegration of the subject, Hedwig slowly turns, making jerky, angular movements with her head, torso and limbs, while juddering slightly to suggest she is ‘out of focus’.  From time to time she savagely strums the mandolin. 

"Verdammte holle" mutters Bruno, under his breath.

The students gobble their way through the guacamole soup, the smoked shrimp boudain with onion crisps, the eel sashimi with tobiko, the chicken oysters in Madeira sauce, the steak tartar with quail eggs, the venison carpaccio with capers, the pork belly with apricots, and the marrons glaces gelato with chocolate cigars, all the while building – with greasy fingers - a tall, abstract structure which is lively and deeply articulated but well balanced when seen from different angles.  Max has painstakingly painted the sculpture with daubs of soup and sauce which match the palette of  “Girl With Mandolin”, 

At the end of the meal, both the Manager and Hedwig, in a dressing gown, approach their table clapping. The other diners join in the applause.  The German students pay nothing for their meal.  On their way home, Ada links arms with Max and leans against his shoulder.  

The friends look at photos of the sculpture on their phones. They are very happy with what they’ve designed. It could even be the model for a new West End skyscraper.  But to be honest, Max’s creativity had served two primary purposes:  the pursuit of dinner and the survival of his species. 

Art Lesson No.3:  Patterns of Disruption 

I dreamed that David was teaching the Fine Art students in the studio on the fifth floor, and for once I was one of them. We were trying a new technique he called “Patterns of Disruption”.  This meant covering a canvas with different coloured layers of oil paint. The paint was mixed with white spirit in order to speed the drying time of each layer and keep the colours separate.  

While the top layer was still wet, we were directed to attack our canvases repeatedly and rhythmically with a variety of weapons:  hairbrushes, combs, hammers, chisels, palette knives, stanley knives, carving knives and scissors, in order to create a dynamic composition that revealed the different layers of paint. 

The smell of linseed oil and turpentine was exhilerating. At first our gestures were tentative, but we soon entered into the spirit of mob violence, and found the process cathartic. Paint flew through the air and spattered our hands, faces and clothes. This was adrenaline-fuelled art: art for arts’ sake, and no other purpose. 

I stood back to admire the carnage. The results were unexpected and exciting. I felt that for once I had truly expressed myself. 

David looked at my painting then looked at me and slowly smiled. This was a complicit smile: a smile that knocked the breath out of me and disrupted my dream. 

I woke up with a jolt of realisation. This was a smile I had never seen in our 15 years of teaching together. It was a smile from beyond the grave – a trick of mind and a trick of time.