“Add first-class Crafts Council exhibition to your 2018 #Collect-ion!”

“Don’t look at it.”

“Do not look at it.”

“Do. Not. Do. It!”

… I hear my inner self repeat, with increasing urgency…

It, being the gorgeous bumper edition of gallerists and artisans represented in the exhibition programme, for the Craft Council’s 2018 edition of “Collect”.

Had I so done, I should have missed my raw and undercooked responses to the copious amounts of brilliance, staged within the haven of the ever-immersive, ever-metamorphic, Saatchi Gallery.

Had I succumbed, I should never have wandered, gawping and wide-eyed, with childlike wonderment, at the genius on show.

Thus, I resisted, and the urge fled, swiftly replaced by internal utterances, released upon sighs of creative satisfaction, at the indescribable, maker-to-viewer, virtuous circle.

It’s as if I didn’t know I needed to eat, until I was eating…. and I’m ingesting a one-time-only, Ossobucco-risotto-of-artistry, garnished with lightly-grilled garlic and flitting flakes of taste-bud-tingling, bites of bacon… Followed by dark, decadent, cherry-chocolate Eton Mess with a flourish of glistening sauce and a scintilla of snow-iced sugar!!

Yes! We’re talking, transcendence of levels!

The restless wresting of pre-determined vocation and preternatural aptitude, with optically chiasmic outcomes that shatter mythological starting or finishing points… Instead, impelling you simply follow that which is vanishing.. because, therein dwells the actual point where true art begins…

Sow “SEE-DS” at the turnstile of this mixed-media manifestation, where concrete and polystyrene form alliances with resin and styrofoam…Witness the wonder of woodwork-tradition holding hands with its technological progeny, under the watchful eye of Sarah Myerscough and see it transformed, in all of its spine-bending glory, at the “Designer Bookbinders” locale, where delicate iterations abound and a deluge of the literary, literally seeps beyond the covers, throwing down the gauntlet, as you dare walk past! No sooner do you grasp, than are your fingertips glazing luxuriant ivory leather, eye-line entranced by piercing palladium and leaves of glittering gilt. At the hands of Annette Friedrich, Virginia Woolf howls orders that you re-direct your discerning glance, in appreciation of a seven-year expedition to visually express her stellar text. Willingly observe, for here you will find a pass-the-parcel of encasement, elevating the elegance of prospective presentation into an exhileration of reception!

“The Bishopsland Educational Trust” invites you to continue their quarter-century celebration, with the gift of silver. Exquisite interpretations of argentum adorn the space with a dazzling display of decorative designs, balancing the conceptual and the practical with distinct ease. Search diligently “Among The Trees” to find a fine “Fractal Wrap Bowl”, the faithful incarnation of a “Silver Leaf Pen Tray” and an “Undercliff Walk Dish, Looking out to Sea”… All, of which, are, in the estimation of one, justifiably-impressed attendee, “entirely Insta-worthy”! Take time to daydream there… you will soon be in concurrence!

“MadeInBritaly” Gallery makes a mighty ‘stand’ for outlandish ostentation, with a gregarious presentation of the works of Shakespeare! The height of ‘peacocking pottery’, it is an adaptation of extreme abandon…The height of embellishment, its contemporary portrayal of the “Bard”, in ceramicist Sunday Best, with all of the trimmings, is akin to an anarchist fashionista, beholding herself in the mirror, whom, rather than removing her last string of pearls, will add another ten, plus a clutch of brooches, for even greater measure of lasting looks!

The chorale of complementary ceramic appeal on offer in the domain of acclaimed gallerist, Cynthia Corbett, is undeniable. Riotous in regurgitated Royal Doulton, fair, smashed to smithereens by creator, Sandra Shasou, about-face and come face-to-face with a bewildering rendering of glaze-dripping desserts, which, subliminally induce the childhood feelings of having over-eaten, when the innocent tin of chocolates has been left ajar and becomes a Pandora’s box of tempting treats! Equally, in real-time adulthood, be prepared that you might wish to leave but, like the best of delectable delights, will somehow, be unable to tear yourself away…

…and yet, extricate yourself, you must, for the prospect of deeper emotional alignment awaits…

…in the constellation of the “London Glassblowing Gallery”…

which is mind-blowing!

Never… I repeat, NEVER, have I experienced such perceptibly perplexing prismatic soul-stirring… It’s impossible maths, made plausible!

Shapes and undulations are, initially, recognisable… cuboids and spheres, for instance… until a plenitude of pyramids come into view, seeming to subdue the perfect storm of internal, ice-blue vortices. Not over. Etch-encrusted forms appear and, that which you cognitively know to be glass, beguiles you, enough to override synapses and believe, definitively, otherwise! Still not over. Empowered by the ethereal, Sabrina Cant certainly can and does mystify, with dichroic treatments. Think, solidified lustre-dust, contracting the Saatchi surrounds and transmuting them into the pitch-black counterpoint of a hand-held kaleidoscope. The Gallery becomes a galaxy, the longer you stare.

Not over, still, for the pages of their studios are as open books, to visitors wishing to become immersed within the library of pursuit of such high creativity.

I register reverberation around my inner ear… “Is it all too beautiful, too rare?” I recognise the refrain as, altogether, fallacy. In rebuke, I answer. “It is undeniably necessary, to be present amidst oeuvres which overwhelm the senses, nay, fundamental in re-igniting the inherent comprehension of the infinitesimal ends to which these master-artisans will reach, in order to give existence to the extraordinary.” Mic dropped…reverb silenced!

“Collect” is intrinsically thus.

The Crafts Council has enclothed the Saatchi Gallery with an unswervingly spirited assemblage of objets d’art, as much conversant with each other, as with the active onlooker. Their resonant, idiosyncratic idioms tuck and taper into the concave chambers of the heart, until, out of the many, emerges one, universal level, that being, the harmony of Human Connection.

On this, the final day, I encourage you to add the unique beauty of your voice to this indelible creative experience and realise, first-hand, the fortifying dynamics of its uncompromisingly unifying, Universal soul-song.

 

 

©A_F_R_O_W2018-2019. All Rights Reserved.

***

“Collect”, The International Art Fair For Contemporary Objects, presented by The Crafts Council, which ends today (25 February 2018)!

Social Media:-

CRAFTS COUNCIL

Twitter: @CraftsCouncilUK ~ Instagram: @craftscouncil ~ Facebook: @CraftsCouncilUK ~ Website: www.craftscouncil.org.uk

SAATCHI GALLERY

Twitter: @saatchigallery ~ Instagram: @saatchi_gallery ~ Facebook: @saatchigalleryofficial ~ Website: www.saatchigallery.com

~

Profound @A_F_R_O_W-Appreciation to Jill and Maria from the Crafts Council, for organising my incredible visit to the one-of-a-kind experience of “Collect”!

 

 

 

 

 

“Finding My Way From Hopper To Hoppen…!”

It’s all in the timing.

The past three events have proven it… beyond a shadow..

Read on.

All will be revealed… as it was for me.

The first, set the scene at the Royal Academy of Arts, Burlington Gardens. Mayfair was glazed in honey-hued sunshine, as I made my way to a private viewing of ‘The Lost Album’, an exhibiton of work by the late, great, actor, filmmaker, artist and photgrapher, Dennis Hopper.

I approached the distinctive, weather-mottled structure, distinctly-etched into the cognitive history of Arts…its dappled-grey exterior punctuated by billowing banners, raised aloft in celebration of the creative wonders within. Somewhat awash with excitement, I entered. Gentle scents of artisanal treats from ‘Atelier’, the RA cafe, wafted invitingly, roundabout me. Monochromatic Hopper-themed images emblazoned the space and I was already lost in them.

Ascending the wealth-of-winding staircase to the ‘Senate Room’, was, I mused, somewhat akin to being Scarlett O’Hara, swept up into the strapping arms of Rhett Butler and being swung across the threshold with sheer, Southern swagger! The highly-decorative ceilings, expansive windows and caramel-coloured, well-walked, wooden flooring, momentarily served to fuel my imaginings, but passionately-delivered and hugely informative pre-exhibiton talks soon brought me back into the room, with an ever-more piqued desire to discover what lay behind a new door, to the next.

That which ensued was a rhythmic chorus of movement, of guests from all walks of life. From the designer-clad to the street-stylers, to the suited-and-booted and beyond…a contemporary collection of attendees quickly became the, unknown, precursor and parallel, to the breadth of Hopper’s subject matter. In genteel clusters, they transitioned through an antechamber, where an expressive quote from the man, himself, distils the life-giving inspiration which the photographs had given to him. Standing to read and re-read, in order to familiarise myself with his ‘voice’, the human satellites had dwindled, only to have reformed, face-to-face, with encased black-and-white stills, along three sides of the perimeter of Room 1, lunch-queue-like, as if to devour the prints whole! The counter-cultural undercurrent running through the exhibiton, also seemed to be running through my veins, to the extent that I bypassed the following space and the viewing gallery and began my journey in the final room! As others observed, I perched upon banquettes in the midst of the floor and copied more of Dennis Hopper’s words, echoed upon the walls… In so doing, I began to assimilate the sense of freedom with which Hopper captured everything he saw.

From the quiet intimacy of boudoir shots, taken in L.A., to the ebullient evangelist series, caught, mid-sermon, so that you could almost hear the preaching… From gowned hippies at flower-power festivals, to Hells Angels, at rest and play, to the effortless cool of the ‘Fab Four of Art’, Warhol, Geldzahler, Hockney and Goodman…From ‘Soul Brother Number 1’, Mr James Brown, being fêted outside his Lear jet, to the picture-perfect Paul Newman, a living canvas upon which are cast charcoal shadows of wire and foliage… From the most visceral bullfighting in Mexico, to the stark irony of a welcome which warns you to ‘Keep Out’, in race-hate ravaged Montgomery, Alabama… to the power and poignancy of Martin Luther King speaking at Selma, no stone seems left unturned, no issue too raw, through which to manifest the truth of life and times in Dennis Hopper’s 60’s. Even the narrative of such minutiae as blistering paint and torn gauze, seem to represent revelatory realities behind the glamour of Hollywood and an increasing intolerance, bleeding through the thin veil of society. All the while, the intensity and detail are juxtaposed by an expansive, audiovisual shangri-la, of a road-scene from the co-created classic, ‘Easy Rider’….the constant stream, of which, engulfs you and baits your curiosity, as to Hopper’s unique vista, developed on-screen.

No wonder, then, that when invited to the B.F.I Southbank, to attend a private showing of the seminal indie-archetype, as part of the ‘Icon of Oblivion’ season, I was only too pleased to rsvp, without hesitation, and appease my inquisitiveness!

Second scene set, it was lights, camera, action in a robustly, modern venue, with a Southbank wrap-around…Yet this was no ordinary cinema… This was a veritable palace, doused in ruby-red, velvet curtains, with plush, matching chairs (the pile of which somehow moulded, ergonomically to the body, like a warm, cinematic cuddle!)… unobtrusive air-con…spacious legroom, (fantastic for me, being 5’9″..old money for approx 1m 80cm!)… and at 20:45 precisely, an impressive demonstration of sound, vision and performance got underway.

Having heard of, but never seen ‘Easy Rider’, I chose not to delve into research, preferring to rely on my R.A experience for a creative template. However, from the opening moments of South American drawl, to a dashing Peter Fonda (‘Wyatt’) in leathers and a hippie Hopper (‘Billy’), strands of Mexico, motorbiking and marginalised members of society, started to emerge.

A stream of consciousness unfurled. From Downtown L.A., wide-angled highway scenes on Harley Davidsons, begat pacy cut-aways, themselves, spliced with extreme-close-ups of twigs, only to be followed by contrasting, mountainous backdrops, which, in turn, were artistically peppered with silhouetted figures of our protagonists and an enigmatic hitchhiker, whom they had picked up, en route to New Orleans’ Mardi Gras!

The spectre of automation, hovering over tradition, was also accutely parallelled in a scene which sees Wyatt and Billy ride into a farm and park their bikes in a barn in the background, whereupon they clean their tyres, with a farrier/ farmhand, in the foreground, tending to horseshoes. Modernity and the notion of progress, seem to be replacing heritage, as swiftly as the Harleys.

Multi-sensory statements including the changing faces of fashion, music and spirituality, are vividly presented. Nothing is contrived. The script is sparsely written, to allow for its multi-faceted, sociopolitical meanings to deeply penetrate the psyche. With an energy of unadulterated art-in-response, undaunted by popular opinion and a short-sharp-shock of an ending, ‘Easy Rider’ struck me with extreme profoundity and was brilliantly complemented by the truly incredible ‘Lost Album’ exhibition.

In fact, it is the final ‘view-from-above’ shot, which would resonate even further with me, at the closing scene of my event-trilogy, that the ‘Photographers v Prostate Cancer’ private viewing and silent auction, in aid of Prostate Cancer UK, held at ‘The Michael Hoppen Gallery’, in the heart of Chelsea.

The late Dennis Hopper lost his battle against prostate cancer in 2010, as did my Father and so, by way of honouring his memory, I sought the chance to cover the evening…and what a moving, optimistic, enjoyable night it was! Photography spanned such genres as portraiture, landscape and reportage…decades, with such names as Hendrix and Yehudi Menuhin encapsulated alongside Keira Knightley….and such amazing photgraphers as Thomas Stanworth, Clive Barda and Rankin.

Hearty addresses were given by Lord Archer, himself a survivor of the male form of cancer and leading prostate surgeon, Professor Roger Kirby, both, of whom, were unrelenting in encouragement of men to proactively pursue GP check-ups, at the first sign of a problem, rather than leave the situation, until it might be too late to treat. Enthusiastic rallying was also made, to bid as much as possible, in order to raise as much as possible, so as to continue the fight against this ruthless disease. Notwithstanding the seriousness of the cause, the bright, white gallery was filled with an air of joy and hope…and by the end of the 3-hour event, an outstanding £17,600 had been raised.

I exited with a sense of peace, joy and exhileration, safe in the knowledge that whilst some, dear, loved ones might have lost their valiant battles against prostate cancer, such cheerful giving-in-action, would help to win the war.

I was then brought, full-circle, to ‘Easy Rider’s’ end camera angle, which finished high up in the sky, as if looking down upon the world…

I somehow felt as if Dennis and my Father were smiling and doing the same…

*********

Many thanks to:-

Simone Stewart at the Royal Academy, Victoria Humphrys at the B.F.I Southbank, Michael Hoppen, Richard Dunkley, Leena Patel, Team Prostate Cancer UK for your kindess and hospitality!

For more information on the above events at the R.A and B.F.I Southbank, organisations and to bid on remaining pictures in aid of Prostate Cancer UK, click the links below!

www.royalacademy.org.uk ~( @royalacademy ~ www.facebook.com/royalacademy )

www.bfi.org.uk ~ ( @bfi ~ www.facebook.com/BritishFilmInstitute )

Photographers v Prostate Cancer

www.prostatecanceruk.org

www.michaelhoppengallery.com

©AFROW2014-2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

***

EMAIL EXCHANGE FROM LEENA PATEL (PCUK)

‘Thank you so much for doing this, means a lot that we have your support.’

SPOTLIGHT ON: ‘THE 24 HOUR PLAYS CELEBRITY GALA’… A SENTIMENTAL RETROSPECTIVE!

Dearest Afrow-Family, as I compose this, my newest post, somewhere, there is ensuing, a hive-of-activity, a buzz-of-excitement, a thrill-of-the-theatrical-chase! The location for the epicentre of this explosion-of-anticipation, is one of the cornerstone venues of the UK, if not global, Theatrical Arts arena, namely, our beloved Old Vic!

Yes, this weekend, will see well-known faces of stage and screen, join artistic forces and flex creative muscles with a tantalisingly team of writers and directors, themselves amongst the industry’s finest emerging and established talent, to produce ‘The 24-Hour Plays’, one of the most exhilerating, multi-discplinary rollercoaster-rides upon the Cultural/Creative Arts must–see list!

Past years have seen a plethora of stars, old-guard and new, showcasing the best of edge-of-your-seat collaborations, somewhat metamorphosing into a combined vanguard, for the elemental nature of stagecraft. Such names as Josh Hartnett, he of the melifluously Robeson-esque tones, Sally Phillips, she of the razor-sharp witticims and Mackenzie Crook, he, the rascal of genuis comedy-timing, have deigned to take the bull that is the ’24 Hour Plays’ event, by the horns and subdue it over an evening of live performances, so palpably immediate, as to be ignited by raw flint!

This year’s participants, who will include the indefatigable, Clive Rowe, the understatedly sublime Tom Ellis, the creative powerhouse, who is Catherine Tate and a rising-star, with quite the most captivating screen-presence, Douglas Booth. The list of celebrities does not tail off and, consistent with the unpredictability of the process, will surely serve-up some of the most delightfully unusual casting combinations that the audience in-attendance might ever have the pleasure to see!

To compound the hub-bub, akin to that of a Hollywood premiere of a hotly-tipped, award-winning movie, is the fact that this year also marks the 10th Anniversary of the fundraising gala. No pressure then!

So what if, as an actor, you have to sit in a room with a prop, share it with other new faces, except that they’re not new faces, because you already know who they are, having racked-up, between them, a C.V the likes of which you couldn’t dream-up?! So what if, as a writer, you are to take that prop and reverse–cram a vignette, which will, hopefully, interlock seamlessly with all of the other five scenes?! What of the fact that you have to pull an all-nighter, in order to release said work-of-written-art?! Or even that there’ll barely be enough time for writer’s block?! Who cares, that it is all to be nursed-and-rehearsed, then presented infront of a kindly-donating audience of savvy theatre-going witnesses?! Oh and why should it be in-the-slightest bit bothersome that the Social Media-Readers can ride, side-saddle, with every second of progress?!

Forming, storming, norming and performing in a 24 Hour group-dynamic, for one night only?!

NO. PRESSURE. AT. ALL!!!!!

Well, having attended, myself, I know that it was pressure-filled, but that, evidently, this was the kind of pressure which caused the artists to yield control, dig deeper than ever before and share the journey towards the birth of theatre-like-no-other! I had the privelege of seeing the entire arc-of-vision, from backstage tours which allowed we band-of-happy-guests to see the performers working through scripts on their own, as well as being face-to-face with the very boards upon which so many greats had trodden, and which would soon become the home of skilfully-crafted creativity, with an intensely off-the-cuff edge!

The very year I attended, I remember walking with other guests, extremely gingerly, past an actor, himself, sat staring into the distance, as if in his own incredible world of moment-to-moment brainfreeze, interspersed with absolute recognition of his lines! It was, right then, that the realisation dawned upon me of being an honoured party to the condensed version of this ‘artist’s way’… and although, prior to the day, I had been enthusiastic about what was to burst its way into my psyche, it rapidly stepped onto my mental-plane and took subsequent flight!

My chosen outfit of a floor-length, champagne-coloured, spaghetti-strapped, ballerina dress, with draped bodice and an acreage of tulle skirt, had also flown all the way from New York City, and was accompanied by a matching pair of crystal-embellished high-heels, an iridescent, sheer pashmina, matching oyster-shell satin purse, with gold chain, a selection of pearl jewellery and a shower of Coco Chanel! My hair was gently encouraged into a delicate chignon, with a few wisps and tendrils, teased for texture… My chosen transport? A good old London Cab!

The show, itself, was…well…out-of-this-world! Filled with emotional highs, lows and turning points…and that was just the introduction! Every excited synonym, possible, sat upon the lips of the adrenaline-fuelled audience. We all knew what the rules of the ‘game’ were, but the improvisational quality of the experience meant that all of the rules had been jettisoned out of the fourth-wall window.. We all knew that too! No longer were we ‘audience members’, but, fellow participants.. Co-creative-cathodes, emitting empathetic energy! Thus, when one actress forgot her lines, looked out at us, declared, ‘Oh, I can’t do this’ and proceeded to retrieve the script and read, verbatim, through the scene, she received rapturous applause, not, as one might think, because she had been defeated, in any way, shape or form…but because she had made an absolute triumph of the moment, and enjoyed the freedom of being able to do so! In this context, it all made utter sense and gave rise to a certain bonding, such as I haven’t experienced in quite the same way since. The post-show party was an entirely relaxed, yet, highly elegant affair, with artists and guests mingling and dancing away until way into the wee, small post-24-hours hours!! I have no doubt that 10th anniversary celebration of this uniquely glitzy gala will be even more impressive, especially being held at the luxurious 5* Rosewood Hotel!

 Whilst embraced by glamour, The 24 Hour Plays model, is an ingenius medium, through which we are blessed to see expressed, what I believe to be at the foundation of all great experiences… At the root, is the courage to fly-by-the-seat-of-one’s-pants (be they of the exquisite YSL cigarette-silhouette, or a nonchalantly loose-legged, denim-flared DKNY variety), and to have faith that, not only is there potential for all of those experiences to come together for the good, but also, that these combined episodes, en-route, will contribute to an amazing ‘mosaic-of-moments’, which we, with true feeling, can all call ‘real life’.

I wholeheartedly encourage you to support The Old Vic by snapping up one of the few remaining tickets, getting your best bib ‘n’ tucker on and going… Black Cab, optional, of course!

©AFROW2013-2019  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.oldvictheatre.com/the-24-hour-plays-celebrity-gala/

www.rosewoodhotels.com