Thoughts in Progress

“Art is political”. “Not always; sometimes I just want to see something beautiful”. The previous verbal exchange was part of the final episode of Master of Photography, a recent series that was broadcast on Sky Arts. On the “arts as politics” side was Oliviero Toscani, an Italian photographer who has found fame for designing controversial advertising campaigns. On the “arts as aesthetics” corner was Simon Frederick, a British artist who has blurred the boundaries between photography and contemporary art.

To me they were both right, although they were both coming at the truth (their truth, more likely) from distorted angles. All art has an implicit political trait. Notice the small “p” in that sentence. This is not party-dependent art, but the type that is open to and encourages (mis) interpretation. So, on this I agree with Oliviero.

When in 2014, the artist Gillian Wearing unveiled her statue of two single mothers and their children in Birmingham she caused a bit of an uproar. Well, I say, a bit; in reality it was mainly The Daily Mail that complained about the absence of fathers in the piece. The rightwing tabloid could not conceive of contemporary art as a medium through which we could attempt to explain modern Britain. That the artwork was a fine sample of well-crafted aesthetics was also lost on the newspaper.

That is why I think that Simon is also right. In terms of conception and production, the artist is only accountable to her/himself. Whether the work is beautiful or not, is a point to be made by the public. Appreciation is the third stage of the creative process and one that does not rely on the author’s initial intention. The contestants on Master of Photography came from all corners of Europe (it was a Europe-wide competition) and they were set challenging tasks every week. Watching the programme made me fine-tune my “politics vs art” sixth sense even more. There were photographers with a very clear and obvious political agenda and this sadly came across as manipulative in their submissions. By contrast, one of my favourite photographs was one in which one of the artists placed herself in the frame, in the middle of a vast, desolate and human-free landscape. The way I interpreted it was as a statement on loneliness. A second reading made me think of man’s eternal smallness in the presence of nature’s magnitude.

Artistically compelling, but political, too?

When we talk about political art, we tend to think of the in-your-face type. The kind that leaves no one in any doubt as to what its intentions are. Yet, even overt political activism must have, in my opinion, an aesthetic side. I look at Picasso’s Dove of Peace and I like it for the beautiful work of art it is. Its significance is a bonus. Equally, I seek out and watch Ken Loach’s films as unsurpassable, artistically-articulated politically-charged discourses on the human condition. Failure to achieve this balance renders the artwork kitsch, in my opinion. There is plenty of art of this kind in former and current socialist regimes, including Cuba.

Likewise, the “art for art’s sake” mantra is a portmanteau vehicle for all kinds of excess and indulgences. The irony is that movements that have tried to walk away from politics (party-politics in this instance) as far as possible have ended up making political statements, whether intentional or not. The Dadaists, the impressionists, the post-modernists; they all have tried to break from the mould by making the artist and their work the central piece of their manifesto. But that small “p” politics keeps sneaking back in.

What I think Oliviero should have said is: All art is political, but not always explicit. To which Simon should have answered: Indeed, I sometimes just want to see something beautiful, even if it’s political.



© 2016

Image taken from Oliviero Toscani’s website.

Next Post: “Killer Opening Songs”, to be published on Wednesday 19^th October at 6pm (GMT)

While My MP3 Gently Plays

It died but it has yet to be buried. My former Phillips mp3 player stopped dead in its tracks (oh, dear, have I just come up with a superb musical pun? Methinks so) a fortnight ago and had to be replaced straight away. To be honest I still don't know what's wrong with it. The music folder disappeared mysteriously and with it the two-hundred-plus songs I'd put on it. I rushed to the nearest shop and bought a new one, but, it was utter rubbish. Please, take this piece of advice. If you ever come across the brand Archos, in whichever form, run a mile away from it. It's the worst make I've ever encountered. The shop compensated me and gave me a brand new, black 4GB Sony NWZB163 mp3 player. 4 giga is fine with me. It holds approximately between five-hundred and six-hundred tunes and it's perfect for when I'm on the move or out jogging.

"Ich glaube, Janis starb an einer Überdosis Janis." This quote, by Eric 'The Animals' Burdon, was the phrase that set me off on the path to learning German. I wanted to find out why Janis had died of a Janis overdose and the book detailing her life was in German. In years to come someone will probably say "Ich glaube, Amy starb an einer Überdosis Amys."

The first time my wife and I heard Amy Winehouse was on Choice Fm. Straight away we were impressed by her vocal delivery and the lyrics. She had a beautiful Billy Hollidayish rasp, mixed with a more rooted, proper north London nasal twang. It's a pity that her booze'n'drugs lifestyle took its toll in the end. I'd rather remember her as she appeared on Jools Holland about the same time her debut album "Frank" came out. "Stronger than me" is a well-written pop song. I hope you enjoy it.



It's strange that this song is twenty-six years old and yet, it still sounds fresh. Suzanne Vega has such a distinctive timbre and in "Knight Moves" you can see why. She is one of the few singers who knows what to do with her voice. Beautiful.



Raw, dirty, blues-infused, no-holds-barred, nihilistic, take-no-prisoners. There are many more words I could use to describe the music of The Black Keys but if, like me, you're into real, heartfelt music and not the Justin Bieber drivel that gets put out by the corporate machine, then, watch the next clip, "Just Got To Be". Rocking.



In June, for Father's Day, I gave myself a present, or rather, several presents. I bought four CDs which had long been on my endless "Saved Items" queue on amazon.co.uk. Of the four, Anoushka Shankar and Karsh Kale's record "Breathing Under Water" is the one that gets played the most. And "PD7" is one of my favourite numbers. I hope it becomes yours, too. By the way, if you want to listen to another highlight from the album, the magnificent 'Little Glass Folk', click here. It's mesmerising, to say the least. The only reason I didn't include it is that the clip is just an image of the CD cover. I'm quite fussy when it comes to uploading videos on my blog. Have a nice week!



Next Post: "While My MP3 Gently Plays", to be published on Sunday 7th August at 10am (GMT)

Sunday Morning: Coffee, Reflections and Music

At the time of writing this post I’ve yet to cast my vote in the UK general election. By the time you read this column, though, we might have a new prime minister. Or maybe a hung parliament. And if it’s the latter, it’d better be well hung, what with the lack of female politicians on the campaign trail, if your poison of choice is testosterone, it’d better stick out from the beginning so that it can rise to the occasion. And yes, all puns are intended.

Or maybe the hung parliament will hang so low that its fate will go the same way as Ellis Drummond, the teenager from Rushden, whose asbo (Antisocial Behaviour Order) prevented him from ‘wearing trousers so low beneath the waistline that members of the public are able to see your underwear’. Taking into account that David Cameron’s Big Society idea was just pants, an asbo on an incoming parliament wouldn’t be out of place.

But before today's Sunday outing becomes an unabashed version of a ‘Carry On’ film, let me come clear. I have fond memories of the 1997 general election. Why? Because I had just visited Britain for the first time in April that year and my flight back to Havana took off a couple of days after Labour’s historical landslide in early May.

During that month I remember enthusiasm, effervescence and a sense of confidence in the future. The famous British upper lip was nowhere to be found, at least in London. When I rode the tube I overheard people talking about getting rid of the Tories and how Tony Blair was going to fix the country.

We all know what happened after, however. What started off as overenthusiastic praise for the White House and the 'special relationship' (why is there never a Relate counsellor available when you desperately need one?), ended up with a full-time membership of Vatican PLC.

And yet, this type of two-faced politics never put me off voting. I voted even when I wasn't supposed to (in 2001 I was sent a ballot paper by mistake). I've stated my political sentiments with an 'X' four times in the course of twelve and a half years (I include the London mayoral elections, too). What's moved me to vote? Here are a few reasons.

I vote because I owe it to my fellow Cuban compatriots who don't have the opportunity of changing the government themselves when and how they see fit.

I vote because it's part of the process of adapting to a country with the oldest parliamentary structure in the world. Perfect, it isn't and neither would I like it to be. But it works most of the time.

When I vote I am mindful of the three following elements: what is important to me socially, politically and economically - that is, my beliefs -, what's likely to happen (I call it reality check) and how I feel about the result. The latter is fundamental. It's what makes some people despondent about the whole electoral system and others optimistic. In my case and putting my pragmatic hat on, my vote has made a difference. It has ensured that the SureStart programme continues to support less well-off families, it got rid of the shameful Section 28 (enacted by the Thatcher government and aimed at eliminating the mention and teaching of homosexuality in schools), it brought the minimum wage, the Freedom of Information Act (which in a subtle touch of irony is being undermined by the same government that introduced it. Who said that slapstick comedy was dead?), regeneration programmes that tackled housing and unemployment. But my vote has done a lot of damage, too. It gave us the invasion of Iraq, political spin as a substitute for substance and the erosion of civil liberties. And let's not forget those MPs milking the system.

So, voting is not easy. It is an arduous task and one that I've never underestimated. Of course, you could say that there's another way. And indeed there is: abstention.

I look up to people who opt out. And my appreciation is once again rooted in my background. Abstaining from voting in Cuba is a no-no. I once met a man who spent a couple of years in jail for leaving his ballot paper blank. Don’t ask how the officials knew that he had not voted. It’s common knowledge that elections are rigged in Cuba. Over here, though, people who write ‘None of the above’ are making a statement against political sleaze. And sometimes we need strong assertions like that. My only concern comes with the degree of responsibility the abstainers assume. Or the lack of it thereof. Because let’s be clear about one thing, even when you don’t turn up to vote, you’re still voting. I know it’s a contradiction but the truth is that someone will be elected. And that someone (MP, councillor, Prime Minister) might be worse than the option against you were fighting. If it’s a member of the Monster Raving Loony Party we might be in for a good laugh. But what if it’s the BNP or Ukip, or any other racist political outlet? How do I explain to my children that the jackboot that left a mark on my face was the consequence not just of lack of faith in a flawed political system, but also apathy?

That’s why I vote. Because it’s difficult, messy, complex and sometimes unpredictable. At the time of writing, the Best Newcomer Act award in the UK general election goes to Nick Clegg, the leader of the Liberal Democrats. Whilst in pole position for the ‘Went Out to Get Some Bread and Bagged Me a Prime Minister Instead’ award goes to Gillian Duffy from Rochdale, otherwise known as ‘Bigoted Woman’.

But that’s enough thinking for today. After all, it’s Sunday, and right now the fire in my belly can only be put out by a good old bass hook. Over to you, Suzanne!

Copyright 2010




Next Post: 'Of Literature and Other Abstract Thoughts', to be published on Tuesday 11th May at 11:59pm (GMT)

Road Songs (Marcato)

Last week I had to go to see the nurse at my local doctor's surgery because one of my ears was blocked (well, actually she syringed both of them just to be on the safe side). Now, I know that this column does not busy itself with organs responsible for maintaining equilibrium and sensing sound. This weekly space is about sharing with you music I listen to whilst out driving. So, bear with me, please.

Whilst one of my senses was suffering, my mood changed and a feeling of helplessness kicked in. I felt deprived, especially in the morning when right after waking up a sentiment of despondency overcame me. Finally on Wednesday last week I went to see the nurse and within 30 minutes I was back to normal. Caveat, though, I am not going back to have the same treatment. By law nowadays nurses and doctors must give patients a run-down of perilous side-effects that might occur after they undergo any type of medical procedure. Amongst the ones that cleaning a blocked ear can bring about are partial or total deafness and heart attack. So, next time it will be the olive oil.

However, on this Wednesday morning as soon as I steppped out of the clinic, the only effect I had was that I suddenly felt like the world had opened a new leaf from its ancient book to me and I was skimming through it studiously. True, I walked to work but later on that day and then two days after I was already behind the wheel.

'Do not use any type of personal stereo', said the nurse. Well, I don't need to, I would have replied. I've got me music in the car, luv.

My ears, unblocked once more, transported me through melodic canals as my hands steered the wheel through the streets of London. As the music breezed out of the car stereo my sense organs attuned themselves to the effects of both gravity and motion. The gravity was the outcome of all these musical notes falling softly on my lap. The motion was driver and vehicle choreographing adventurous (but not hazardous!) moves on the road. The result of that polyphony is below for everyone to enjoy.

Copyright 2008