Author: bigdunc09

Driving over Snake Pass to spend a week with my parents, sister and family, I wasn’t sure what to expect of a place I had only ever ventured to once: thirty years ago, in fact.

The journey there was pretty memorable: spending time on the A57 of ‘Van Der Graffe’ fame; seeing the Suedehead barbers in lovely Glossop and getting funny looks in the Yorkshire Bridge Hotel. But strangely, I didn’t remember much of our first foray into the Peak District and it’s a good job, as we were pleasantly surprised with a plethora of things from our time there together.

We stayed in a beautiful, picturesque cottage and enjoyed the peace and quiet as well as the beautiful surroundings.

We had a weekend of sunshine and outdoor swimming at the Hathersage Lido: all lovely stuff, especially a chilli & lime scotch egg from the Coleman Deli, pints at the Scotsman’s Pack. We even happened upon the grave of a Little John, Robin Hood’s bezzie, which was a little underwhelming but still a nice experience for anyone who grew up watching Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves.

The next day, two hours perusing Chatsworth were nowhere near enough, given the beautiful gardens, the incredible range of sculptures on show from Damien Hirst to displays of shells and crystals and the wonderfully ornate rooms on the tour and the particularly interesting work by the house’s inaugural artist in residence, Linder Sterling.

Obviously, I had a vested interest in her work due to her close association with a certain Steven Patrick, and was impressed with the collages on show but also the incense being burned at different points during the day, the sound pieces and the textiles designs. She’d obviously immersed herself in the whole experience of touring the house, and made links with its historical influences and importance very cleverly.

I was very impressed.

This of course may be of interest to you, so here’s a link:

https://www.chatsworth.org/events/artist-in-residence/

Whilst in this neck of the woods, I also overspent at the farm shop and the kids loved the farm itself – plus the adventure playground – and enjoyed a great takeaway from the Maazi before we all had a great day out at the Crich Tramway Village: a hark back to days at the seaside, with some beautiful signage, and evoked thoughts of times in our own city as well as locations around the world which use the tram system.

It was a really lovely family day out.

The day in between, though, brought with it the highlight of the trip: Sheffield. 

A strange sentence, perhaps, for those who have never frequented the city, and even stranger for someone who never thought I would get there. I grew up watching ‘When Saturday Comes’; we love Henderson’s Relish; I had a soft spot for Wednesday because of Waddle and even collaborated on a play about the north (2013 production ‘Wondrous Place’ http://www.britishtheatreguide.info/reviews/a-wondrous-plac-unity-theatre-8838 in which the play-within-a-play ‘Porters Brook’ made me want to visit the city more than ever, if only because of the song:

Plus, my heart both snag and sank a couple of years ago when I read an article about the story of the Urban Splash neon signage on a housing estate on the outskirts –https://www.theguardian.com/global/2016/aug/21/tragic-story-of-sheffield-park-hill-bridge –  and I supported the campaigns to keep the chimneys and the trees from extinction, despite them being two hours away.

Now, then… the steel city and me have an interesting history, mainly musically, because I feel like I know the place through the songs of Richard Hawley.

Many people of my generation would say the same of the Arctic Monkeys, and although I really like some of their newer stuff – and had a drink with them in the Brewery in a previous life when a friend worked on their second album cover – but I can’t really count myself a true fan. Similarly, ‘Different Class’ by Pulp was a seminal album from my teenage years and again, really respect Jarvis but don’t feel the same affinity I feel for Hawley.

I fell in love with his words and chords when he didn’t win the Mercury Prize, then fell in love with my wife as he played the soundtrack. Meeting him in a darkened doorway on Parr Street was still one of the more surreal moments of our relationship – having a reet good natter like old friends – and so it was no surprise when our secret dance lessons, learning a Viennese waltz, led to our first dance at the wedding of 2012.

Here’s the proof: our practice notes!

Countless concerts and seminal moments since, as I said I didn’t think we’d ever make it to Coles Corner or the other places namechecked on his albums.

We went to Coles Corner first, took the obligatory selfies and reminisced… saw the Crucible Theatre; the lovely indoor Winter gardens; the gallery and museum, including a great anti-war exhibition; the Hendo’s shop; car bonnets painted with iconic lyrics; examples of Lego Bricktropolis, and were made up to see Hawley’s visage on the wall of the Pizza Express (the only negative being they didn’t sell grappa!)

We made it to Lady’s Bridge, the oldest in the city, and saw a grittier, edgier part of the city ‘down by the river’ which I really liked. There were several beautiful, iconic buildings which have been run down or worse, and there was  also a ‘beach’ in the square in front of the town hall. B loved running through the fountains, too, but not before we visited an amazing little pub in the student part of town that I’d read about and was not disappointed.

Ok, well I was a little disappointed with their music policy:

Though not with the pint of Cher Bert beer, nor the time spent in the beer garden painting B’s nails…

Nor the sticker on the drainpipe outside.

A quirky, genuine, playful yet sincere pub I’d recommend to anyone, especially after what happened immediately following our visit. I realised I’d left my beloved Primark sunglasses in the pub whilst chasing an escaping B, and with no time to spare before the tram back to the park & ride I wrote a brief email to the landlord asking for their safe return.

They have some sentimental value in that they’re very me, with some nice memories attached… sunglasses are currently a thing, too, so I said I’d pay the postage, but a few days later, there arrived an envelope with my pride and joy inside and they’d even gone to the effort of sending them first class which I really appreciated and made me love Sheffield even more.

As did something I’d picked up in the pub, a really interesting catalogue from www.theimagespeaks.co.uk which is a collection of projects by PhD students from the Faculty of Arts and Humanities at the University of Sheffield. I particularly liked the works by Katrina Mayson on Joseph Cornell, and the Franco-Algerian identities project by Martin Elms but was most taken by the comments I found at the back of the booklet.

Our day out, and this interesting body of collaborations, made me wonder how life might have been as a student in Sheffield. The architecture is amazing, a real mix, the students union used to be the centre for popular music… They even have poems on the side of buildings, for God’s sake!

But this all embodied my impression of the city: it comes through in Pulp, Monkeys, Hawley’s music; in the kindness and generosity of pub staff for a one off customer;h in the honesty of the art critic who left his comments for a stranger like me to find and love.

Love, love, love.

I’ve been listening to the Beatles a lot recently and I think Sheffield is a city of love: love is, after all, all you need.

Earlier in this article, I skirted over Coles Corner as it was a little anticlimactic – a few undesirables were sat on the benches opposite; it now houses a Pret, and there’s no romantic lighting, but just being there with our children all these after that dance and the countless rehearsals and re-enactments reminded me that the site was initially written about because it was where couples traditionally would meet before embarking on a night out together. 

Our day in Sheffield had all the same ingredients of romance, grit, edginess, culture and smiles as a first date – with a very happy ending.

Talking of which, next time: extreme pain, joy and turning five!

Exactly a year ago, I had my head shaved and was thrown off a train for protecting my family.

That’s a true story, believe it or not, and by way of apology, Merseyrail sent me some train vouchers as compensation. For myriad reasons, I never got around to spending them until this week, and even then could only manage a trip into town.

However, this was a journey I’d been looking forward to making for a while: well, I say a while, perhaps a lifetime. I took B around the 2016 Biennial when her mum was a month away from giving birth to our second born, E, and this was his time. Introducing your son to the world of contemporary art – he’s been to a few galleries before, but this was his first taste of Biennale gallery-hopping – is a wonderful thing I’d hope all those interested in it, can experience, even if it can be stressful and challenging at times.

We actually started at the library, in the incredibly ornate Picton and Hornby rooms for the Frankenstein book art exhibition I’d first heard about through that life-changing course I recently completed.

There were some lovely examples on show, and even though I’m not teaching the gothic fiction module next year – sorry, no more talk of school, WE’RE ON OUR HOLIDAYS – it stirred up the creative juices and whetted the appetite for other planned text engagement. It was just difficult keeping the ever-more-articulate little ‘un quiet in such lovely surroundings.

Next up was the JOHN MOORES exhibition at one of my favourite places on earth, the Walker Gallery. If I’m honest, I was a little underwhelmed by the collection this time, though that’s perhaps because I’m so out of touch with painting and image-making that I don’t know what’s on trend any more. I saw quite a few things I liked but left with an understanding of the negativity some of the Post-it notes reflected.

Still, it offered the chance to see this great design and quote from the genial past winner Sir Peter Blake, and to interact with a selfie mirror at the end of the show.

Onwards, Evertonians – up Brownlow Hill, to a building I’d never made it inside before, and what a silly decision that proved to be! The not having been in before, because it’s such an ornate and classy environment I should have spent time in whilst a student who instead frequented dodgy bars and nightclubs.

I am, of course, talking about the Liverpool University building; I knew it was there but had never ventured in, not even able to attend the Stu Sutcliffe show a few years back. This time, though, I was even more pleasantly surprised with the art on show, particularly those by Francis Alys in the upstairs gallery, above the beautifully ornate cafe with its decorative tributes to fallen heroes.

Alys has always fascinated me, but not previously for his painted works. These were just lovely, painted over a lifetime on boards and skilled but at the same time, quite naive-looking, but still carefully composed and with pastel colours chosen for effect. It was this palette which reminded me of the works of David Tindle, a little-known painter of egg tempera still lifes whom I was introduced to at GCSE time… long, long ago.

I also really loved the strange, labyrinthesque installation by Ben Judd, and the Egyptian section featuring mummified bodies and beautiful little carvings.

After that, we moved on to JMU’s John Lennon building – the home of the art & design faculty – and a building close to my heart, not just because  I exhibited there as part of my MA show several lifetimes ago, but aso because it now homes several of my old tutors who deliver the BA Graphic Arts course (me first degree, embarked upon nearly TWENTY years ago now) to those wide-eyed undergraduates of whom I was once one.

There, we enjoyed the Bloomberg New Contemporaries showoverall, though it was rather inconsistent. Standout pieces involved a fanzine collaborative; a load of eggs, taking the form of a Virgin Mary; a set of strange witch figures and a lovely collection of eclectic images by the group who also designed the biennial branding. This was one of the highlights of the day.

Next, we took a walk along Hope Street: a trip down memory lane for me, as we passed old flats, old places of study, old haunts and arrived at ‘the suitcases’, where I once posed for a DAZED & CONFUSED photoshoot. Then, it was down Hardman and Leece Streets for the somewhat underwhelming shows at FACT (one such offering – films by Agnes Varda – I had to shield Elijah from, as it showed a woman getting attacked in a phonebox – I’m all for pushing the envelope for one’s art, but we were given no warning in the way in by the gallery assistant who just said “ahh, she’s young!” to us on the way in) although I did like the ideas behind the horse and garden themed films by Mohamed Bourouissa.

How things change when you have kids.

Still full of energy, we walked down to the Bluecoat which has always been a favourite of the kids due to the peaceful garden there and a nice mix of interactivity in their shows over the last few years. This was no exception; Ryan Gander, Suki Seokyeong Kang and particularly Silke Otto-Knapp made this a more engaging experience, and a really positive end to this first part of Biennial binging.

There followed a nap, after all that art, and a short period of shopping for B’s birthday gifts before a nice pint at Lunya in advance of getting the train home and reflecting on everything we had seen that day.

Including Noel Gallagher playing the piano in L1…

The rest of the festival can wait, for now… We’re off to Sheffield!

“The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.”

What with all this sunshine we’ve been having, I’ve spent a lot of time with the kids in the garden or down the front and was actually sat on a wall by the beach last week, staring into the distance, reflecting on the seminal changes which have taken place over this past twelve months.

I then decided I needed to spend a few hours letting you know what’s happening; lots of words, self-indulgent writing, to reach you, as Travis nearly sang.

Since last we met – an emotional obituary aside – so much has happened that this may appear quite a difficult and busy period of my life and if you thought so, you’d be right, although as I was once reminded by my best man – stated in ‘The Dark Knight’ –  the night is darkest just before the dawn.

And, as promised, the dawn came.

We had great fun at a couple of weddings, proms, parties, and some magic moments as the littlest elephant continues to develop his vocabulary ten-fold.

Plus, B thrives daily, getting her first bike (a hand-me-down, done up lovely) and she rode it gleefully around the very park we first walked her in; then, she did a magical thing at sports day in the siblings’ race:

Oh, and climbed several walls in an old church, which also made my eyes water.

Also, I had a wonderful Fathers’ Day – I was spoilt rotten, what with gin and Star Wars books and more – then had a taste of the exotic with a 10ft Burmese python around my neck and a shot of Maotai, a 53% Chinese liqueur that Nixon apparently labelled a panacea and Kissinger said could solve anything.

So far, so good… But there have been some difficult times in 2017-18, not just for me. There now shines the light of a period of rest and recuperation after a stressful, intense few months leading up to a long holiday.

And, anyway, I just want my time with you.

“I use the words you taught me. If they don’t mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.”

The summer holidays are here and the World Cup has been and gone: no sticker books this time, instead, the only books I’ve been interested in recently are the reading kind, as the job demands. Obviously I’d recommend ‘Wonder’; ‘Rook’ by Anthony McGowan; ‘Ready Player One’ for any gamers and then this classic about the #BlackLivesMatter movement:

Also… well, there are so many others.

Seventeen books since January, and counting, all because I rediscovered the power of reading – a power which takes me into the summer and led to me talking to a room full of VIPs and strangers about the journey I’ve been on during the first half of this year.

I was given several humbling compliments by those present and was even described as ‘the most inspirational teacher ever’ by someone I’d never met. At this point, I offer a disclaimer: I’m normally trying to be like Jaggers, the lawyer of Magwitch in ‘Great Expectations’ who doesn’t let his home and work lives overlap, but in this case I’ve made an exception because of the profound effect a work-related thing has had on my home life.

It’s basically a course over four days, run by CLPE, which has changed my life – as a father, a reader and a teacher. More specifically, it focused on ‘the power of reading’ and opened up a whole new world of opportunity where books are concerned, both in and out of the classroom.

Led by inspirational individuals, who read even more than me, I ended up volunteering to give a short presentation which made people cry and nicely personified the belief of Auggie that ‘everyone deserves a standing ovation once in their life’. This wasn’t quite that much of an accolade, but probably the nearest thing, and certainly made years of hard work worthwhile.

Plus, I got to meet one of my literary heroes – another FCB – who himself gave an emotive and eloquent talk about the importance of teachers and reading for pleasure, which wasn’t lost on me after a couple of terms of really transformative teaching by others.

This guy is a legend. Even if he lives locally, we have mutual friends and I sometimes see him doing his shopping, it was a special moment, given what he has created in his life and its legacy. He blew me away with his articularcy and emotion during an improvised talk which focused on thanking us for the outcomes we’ll never know we inspired.

Given that I’ve been reading and thinking so much, I’ve not had time to watch much TV – World Cup aside, naturally – other than the excellent Random Acts, Keeping Faith and then most importantly Gomorrah and a few food programmes which all inspired me to decide on the destination for my fortieth birthday next year.

Talking of Gomorrah, Jesus Christ – Genny, WTF? – what an ending to the third series for anyone who shares my love of what – I think – is quite simply the best thing on TV.

James Martin, Jamie Oliver et all took me further south, though… I’ve long been intrigued by the food, the culture, the ethos of Sicily, and given that my heart is Southern Italian despite my Maghrebin roots, this seemed the natural suggestion for a weekend of over-the-hill celebrations. I’ve been listening – on a loop – to the Gomorrah soundtrack, too, which has heightened my sense of anticipation and enjoyment, and introduced me to several examples of Italian rap music. Some of it is pretty cool… although I’m amazed that this is so popular!

“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”

With so many positives, it’s not surprising that at some point we would feel disappointment. First, by Morrissey, who cancelled the outdoor gig I’d booked as a reward for my hard work over this intense year – my love (despite some controversies) does not diminish, however, because “the more he ignores me, the closer I get” – but then, somewhat surprisingly, by individuals letting us down due to complicated circumstances (or even on purpose, due to weirdness) which simply mean more changes next year.

Sat by the beach, then, my reflection allowed time to plan the summer; it starts with B’s birthday party, another emblem of the transformation this past five years have brought about. It’s been a challenge of resilience for the big little ‘un, too, as she is the youngest in the class. I’m extremely proud; as the photo shows, she’s exhausted… I was truly blown away by her school report, and how she’s negotiated her reception year, but that’s another story – then leads into some evolution but hopefully, lots of standing still.

That includes my completion of the statues project – even if I was overlooked by ‘Hannah’ this year, I started something I can finish – and on the seventh anniversary of my MA graduation, I think of a seminal quote by Samuel Beckett which was used by the Manics on one of their albums and is now hijacked by myself:

“Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.”

I’m very happy, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that annual feeling as I approach the end of another academic year and then prepare for the top of the hill; it’s natural to take stock and wonder what might have been (especially when I feel like I’ve turned a corner in a new direction) on this journey. I always thought that fame and success in the art world would be the key to happiness.

Instead, it’s in books, in doing the right things, ‘having morals’ (as someone else recently said about us) and most of all, in family. What really cemented my belief that what I’m doing is right – “because I’m true, and I’m real, and this is how I feel” – was written in the front of a notepad by my boss; it was tweeted by a stranger who heard me speak about my journey; it was in overhearing one of the best things anyone’s ever said about me… and then this, from someone I’ve only met four times but clearly struck a mutual chord with.

I shed another tear or twenty when I saw this message:

The power of reading a bit more, indeed.

You might have guessed, if you stuck with it, that I have been reading a lot about / by Beckett recently because his often contradictory, always pragmatic, musings strike a real chord with the often-difficult-but-also-very-rewarding year I’m turning the page over from.

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

“You must go on. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

“Je suis comme ça. Ou j’oublie tout de suite ou je n’oublie jamais.”

This is, believe it or not, a very positive to end the blog – nay, the term – on, because I feel reinvigorated and inspired to open the next chapter with a renewed sense of purpose. Excitement, even?

And anyway, before then, six weeks of happiness and haircuts; first tastes of tapas, turning five and having lots of family fun (in between the reading!) proving that, actually, words aren’t all we have.

BCNU X