WAITING FOR BARDOT, THE MOVIE. 

PAY PER VIEW 31st MAY 2021

How come there are so few Drag Kings, some ask. Well, there are not "so few". What happens is that they are not very visible.

Drag Kings are people who have decided to show us how masculinity can also be an object of attention. To give shape to the idea that we have of the masculinity that governs us, to explore the man within us, to put into play roles that are forbidden to us by our identity... Empowering us by playing at pretending to be something we are not for the pleasure of trying the "if we were".

The Drag King workshops emerged in the 1980s within the feminist movement as a space of exploration for women to decipher the codes of hegemonic masculinity and question the power that was (and is) implicit in them. Thus, the Drag King has had a transformative political potential since its inception. Because it does not only emerge to question and reinterpret the masculine in a society where binarism is untouchable. It also makes feminine masculinity visible and empowering.

Not all people who perform the masculine gender are female. There are all genders. There are those who identify themselves as men and want to explore a type of masculinity that is not their own. Photographer Bruce Wang's work illustrating this post gives visibility to the diversity of London's Drag Kings over the last few years. Their artistic expression has evolved to what we can see today, but the political is still present. The low visibility is, in a way, a good sign of this. The uncomfortable is annoying.

Wang publishes his portraits in a series of books, "Kings of Drag", in which we can see his homage to this diversity. Each photograph is a celebration of the empowerment that comes from daring to play with the masculine and using that power to continue building our own identities.

The Sean Mac Loud interview

Sean Mac Loud Interviewing Bruce Wang

SM So tell me about how your photography sessions work

BW At the risk of sounding pretentious, I just want my subjects to be spirited and spiritual.

SM In what way?

BW In the way they come over in the printed shot

SM So to show their inner side?

BW Yes. To some photographers that's anathema.

SM Do you tend to get a grasp of this side of them before you take the photos and do you change the way you take them to accommodate this?

BW Subconsciously and automatically. this could be the first paragraph of the interview.

SM So lets assume that you do this, and perceive them correctly - how does that change the way you create the set up in the studio? would you, for instance change the lighting to reflect someone that you think is either darker or lighter in nature?

BW The setup is very small and rarely changes. I just do my best to inject some atmosphere but sometimes they are so uptight I want to ask them why they bothered to turn up.

SM I have noticed that your subjects are very diverse in nature and not what most would consider mainstream - the Trans community and so on. They seem at ease when you take the photos - possibly they are defensive and wonder if this could be a set up to mock them? How do you convince them that you are "on their side" and to come and be photographed?

BW Im very polite and considerate and I take hundreds of shots.

SM But what do you actually say to them? There's obviously that terror of being invited into a stranger's van type scenario?

BW I know. after a while i became quite well known as being an elderly gentleman and therefore harmless.

SM So you were well known on a particular scene or in general?

BW On the scene. one event organiser said she would be "honoured" if I went and took photos..

SM So generally you're well known in your local area as such?

BW Yes.

SM So.. when they turn up, some are nervous - how do you go about setting up a scene? would it be ad hoc, or do you usually have a situation to put them into , or does it boil down to how comfortable the subject is? Would you allow them to create their own?

BW The Green Room and Hallways have pics of Drag Kings. There was one very nervous one I invited back twice so that I could get some decent shots--it worked out in the end.

SM So let's go back to the early days..What made you get into photography? what inspired you and what was your first camera?

BW My first camera was a Kodak Brownie. I thought it was so delicate and precious. My brother said there were little people inside who made the shapes of what I pointed the camera at. In the end I opened the camera and unrolled the undeveloped film to see these little people. So delicate.

SM When the little people came out what did they look like? What was your family like - were they quite artistic?

BW Sometimes I got my sisters to pose in what I thought was comic poses. my family were all artistic in their own way. My dad bought the latest gadgets including a Leica.

SM So was he the one that got you interested in cameras?

BW He took a lot of photos and cine film.

SM Did that inspire you and did he mentor you?

BW No it was my sister who actually studied photography as a first degree.

SM So explain how you got interested?

BW She taught me basic dark room techniques and she taught me when and what to cut out of photos. Brutal.

SM In what respect?

BW Anything that did not contribute to the sense or aesthetic of a photo was just chopped out.

SM So basically composition or focusing on the important things?

BW Yes, and she introduced me to the pictures of Cartier-Bresson, David Bailey, Bill Brandt and Don McCullen in 1965.

SM So they were very off-beat artists and probably well ahead of their time - they were more about the backwater places - the grungier underworlds - did that open your eyes a bit?

BW Yes absolutely and then I discovered the works of Ansel Adams and Edward Steichen in 1973.

SM So you must have been really young at this point in your life right? when did you get your first ever "proper" camera?

BW My first proper camera was a Miranda in 1973. It wasn't very well designed and the light meter switch kept flicking to "on" after it was put to bed. but it was in 1967 that I had a Ricoh. I used to photograph boys who were feminine while I was at school.

SM You went into acting - why was that?

BW It was better paid and easier than carpentry.

SM So where did you do carpentry? So you left school and did carpentry?

BW I left school in 1968. 1969 Davies Laing and Dick. 1-2-1 tutors in Notting Hill Gate 1970-72 Leeds Polytechnic Business Studies HND - 72-73 an Accountancy apprenticeship

SM During this time were you still having an interest in photography?

BW I worked as studio assistant to Barry Flanagan, The sculptor he was rather famous in the 70' & 80's and he taught me how to see beauty in just a stone resting on wooden blocks.

SM As an actor did that work show you a bit more about how camera work was done? Did it give you any insights?

BW I've seen DoP's take a lot of trouble with lighting only for the final film to come out dirty and murky. It was Apple computer programs that helped me to realise my artistic potential.

SM How?

BW The ease of making videos and editing and processing photos and mixing the 2 together.

SM So when did you decide to take the plunge and become a "proper" photographer? and how did you go about it? was it quite expensive?

BW My Sony A7R3 cost about 5k the lenses cost 3k I thought I better find out how a DSLR works. I still don't know what all the dials and programs are for !

SM How did you prepare the room? did you have a spare one?

BW I made my bedroom into an office/studio. I sleep in the Kitchen/Living Room

SM So tell me how you made it into a studio, did you strip it?

BW I just have one wall with black and white rolls of paper hanging. The other 3 walls are just storage and shelves. I'm beginning to think I should take more external shots.

SM What about the lighting? Do you use lamps and umbrellas?

BW Oh Yeah I've got one soft box overhead and another on the floor which I put on chairs sometimes no need for lamps and umbrellas.

SM Since your first proper camera, what do you think was the most important thing that you learnt about photography was?

BW Pictures can and do lie.

diCorcia Heads Exposed

By Naomi Elfred-Ross

I have recently been reading a beautiful graphic novel called Seek You: A Journey Through American Loneliness, by Kirsten Radtke. I say novel, but it is more a piece of research, or an essay with meticulously wrought illustrations. Radtke brought my attention to photographer Philip-Lorca diCorcia and his famous body of work; Heads. diCorcia set up his camera on a tripod in Times Square and using powerful strobe lights, which he attached to scaffold, he went on to take thousands of photographs of pedestrians, as they made their way through the crowds. Perhaps they were out shopping, or on their way home from work. The strobe lighting highlighted the features of the individuals, with a rather ghostly effect, who would otherwise be unseen amidst the shadows.

The images, that were taken at some 20 feet away, have an intimate quality as though it were possible to reach out and touch them, the detail is so fine. There is a sense of voyeurism in knowing that the subjects were unaware that they were being photographed, their vulnerability exposed, as they lose themselves in the crowd. Yet I wonder how often we ever feel truly anonymous and lost in the city, in an age of high surveillance, camera phones and social media? Can we ever really let our guard down, or are we always left with a sense that we might be being watched, at any given moment? If it were possible, it may bring comfort to know that we can become invisible, but it may also feel incredibly isolating, as we are social beings and surely most desire and need to connect, to be seen and to be known. However, how we are seen and known is crucial and so we are left in a perpetual state of self-consciousness. It is no surprise, therefore, to note Radtkes observation that diCorcias images seem neither posed, nor candid, but in some eerie liminal space, as if the subjects can sense theyre being watched. (Radtke 2021).

KIM BY BRUCE WANG

I had initially felt entranced by these images, as they appealed to my own vulnerability and sense of isolation. Here, I was being presented with a snippet of another human beings private world. I found myself trying to imagine something of what their lives might be like. Where were they going? Where had they been? Are they going home to someone who loves them, or are they alone in the world? Their apparent vulnerability, as unknowing subjects, felt like a hand reaching out to mine and I felt less alone. Yet I also felt myself being exploited, as I believe the subjects of the pictures were and so the work has a dishonesty about it, for me. Bruce and I have often conversed, in the past, about how the true essence of a person is captured photographically.

Bruce looks for this, through taking multiple snaps, up close, in his studio. He searches through afterwards for those that speak to him. I wonder if it is possible to put into words exactly what he is looking for, or if it is a more instinctive, emotional response, that resonates with something of our own experience of what it is to be alive. If this is the case, then of course the selected images are subjective, and I wonder how the photographer is able to judge that what they perceives is also what others will see too? I wonder what the truth in photography really means, and can a photograph truly be unedited?

I think Bruce acknowledges this in his work and explores the juxtaposition between the self we wish to share with the world and that which we wish to keep private. Surely the selection process is a kind of editing, as diCorcia had to decide on a selection of images taken from thousands. Yes, there is the initial emotional response, but the brain has an amazing knack of categorising and stereotyping.

I wonder if a more honest way to work would be to select at random, but the photographer will be seeking to sell their work and so this would be taking a massive risk. So, is diCorcias Heads simply exploiting our vulnerability and need to be seen, amidst a pandemic of isolation? Our need to connect, to recognise the familiar and to belong. I find myself becoming increasingly cynical the more I consider his motivation. His process feeling somewhat staged and theatrical. A comment on the world we live in perhaps, where we are, more than ever, expected to create avatars of ourselves, to play a part and all the while, we disconnect from ourselves and from the world. Seems pretty bleak. Thinking of what motivates me creatively, in this particular context; I know there have often been times I have passed somebody on the street and longed to take their photograph, just as they are. I would need to take it without them knowing, otherwise they would become guarded and may try to pose. This is the point I decide to keep on walking, because I would not want to invade anyones privacy or intimate revelry. Who are these people who interest me anyway? Are we all drawn to certain associations of what is universally true as reflecting something of humanity? I wonder if it is better to acknowledge there will always be limitations within all art making and make no pretence to the contrary. This, of course, should not deter any artists from expressing whatever it is that inspires them and commenting, in their own unique way, about the world they exist it. In doing this they are sharing something of their own lived experience and what could be more human about that?

Reference

-Radtke Kirsten. (2021). Seek You: A Journey Through American Loneliness. Pantheon Books, New York.

Hi Naomi, Many thanks for making me aware of the work of Philip-Lorca DiCorcia. I have looked and looked at and read about his work for a few days now. The only way I could make a start in replying to you was to send you 6 of his pictures, 2 of mine, 1 by a lesbian couple and the final archive picture of 3 Bauhaus students seen here while taking a photo break from their famous, weekly Bauhaus celebrations circa 1934. My two pictures are editorial narrative pictures inspired by artist Boyd Webb. As editorial pictures, they do not have any text attached, and are meant to stir emotions and Art awareness. Here is just a stream of thoughts which I will edit after my nights sleep: Of all the women on show, I would most like to work with the 3 Bauhaus women. The lesbian couple are excellent photographers in their own right. So that just leaves Mr DiCorcia. Telephoto Lenses as used by DiCorcia, are like using a snipers rifle when Game Hunting. To continue the metaphor, the Game is shot/butchered, packed, and arrives in the Art Gallery/Supermarket a few days later. The same applies to the Hassidic Jew subject who unsuccessfully sued DiCorcia for invasion of privacy. I have never used telephoto lenses as I like to get up close and personal with my sitters. The 4 Caucasian Women. Their photos are very similar to those used by middle class Caucasian women on Singles Dating Sites. Yes, they all appear vulnerable, fragile and unguarded. But look again and see that underneath they all wear iron fists over velvet gloves. The South East Asian Women. I find these photos a bit disappointing. They show South East Asian Women to be sexual playthings and emotional dwarves. Best wishes, Bruce

Happy Accidents

Creative conversations with Bruce 16/04/22 by Naomi Elfred-Ross

As we often like to do, Bruce and I were discussing our art practice. I enjoy doing this, as its a great way to contemplate my own approach to my art, through sharing ideas and hearing Bruces thoughts and ideas. Bruce recently shared with me some self portraits he had taken, entitled Bad hair day. They are black and white shots with dramatic contrast, obscuring much of the image and yet, somehow, accentuating its impact as an artwork. The pictures have a surrealist quality.

Bruce described the photos as happy accidents. This got me thinking about the role of the supposed accidents in my own art practice. I put to Bruce that Freud had famously said that there are no accidents and I wondered if what had happened for Bruce was that perhaps the true artist emerges when we are playing and seeking less to impose expectation on the creative process, but rather allowing ourselves to explore and enjoy ourselves. Previous blogs have spoken of my own approach to painting, as I try to shake off the shackles of perfectionism and allow myself to be as curious as a child. I certainly find that I am always much happier with the end result of an artwork, be it painting or printmaking, when I have allowed myself to let go.

Bruce commented that he saw his camera as it if were a brush, which paints in a fraction of a second. He said he used to paint but gave it up as he used to think faster than he could paint. For this reason, the camera very much suits Bruce, as his tool for creative expression.

This is something I can relate to, as I often find I have several pieces of work on the go at the same time, which feels like a circular conveyor belt. I feel a sort of excited energy when I paint and I have no patience to allow paint to dry, so I move on to a new piece. I am very open to happy accidents and enjoy experimenting with different medium and mark making techniques to see what emerges. Having suffered recent bereavements, I feel my unconscious needs to be liberated and painting has become my strategy for allowing this to happen. In this context, I am very much drawing on some of the ideas of the surrealist movement, who sought to create opportunities for their unconscious processes to emerge and inform their work. For this, they would employ a variety of strategies, including doodling, collage, frottage, decalcomania and grattage. An artist friend of mine is very much embracing the surrealist movement and their approaches and is producing some fascinating results, which have generated some interesting discussions between he and I. I thank him for this, as it felt as though working alongside him has opened up a whole new world for me. I think, with the odd exception, it is vital that artists share ideas and do not work in isolation. Bruce once spoke about his image of himself as the lone artist, working alone, in his garret. I can see how the notion might have romantic connotations, but the reality, certainly for me, would be bad for my mental health and my artwork would quickly become stagnant.

To be honest, I cannot agree that Bruce does work in isolation, as the very nature of his photography is portraiture and unless these works are solely self portraits, which is not the case for Bruce, how could he be working alone? Bruce draws from his subjects for inspiration and new ideas, he meets people from all walks of life; their stories are carried in their faces, in their eyes. Bruce, also has a prolific presence on social media, so he is reaching out to thousands, potentially millions. This blog also speaks to the artists dependence on the input of others.

Artists reach out to the world and use their feedback to inform their next step, even if we dont realise we are. We are all social beings after all. I think, for me, it is about balance; time is needed among other artists or sharing work with the public, while there is then an equal need to be alone, to process what has been learned, to sketch/doodle, be that with a brush or camera; to play. Some paintings I have recently been working on could also be described as happy accidents. I came to the studio feeling somewhat flat and uninspired; just one of those days. So, perhaps as the surrealists might have done, I looked about the room, gathering random objects that jumped out at me, I didnt pause to consider why they did, they just did. I then placed the motley assembly on the table and selected painting surfaces that had already been used and had been reprimed, so they had a texture, I selected four. I like the idea of working on surfaces that already have a history. I then randomly selected colours to work with (I used acrylics and inks) and initially created a background, using different markmaking techniques to apply the paint, moving from one piece to the next. Following this a rapidly painted shapes that caught my eye from each of the object in front of me, rotating the surface each time, building up layers of shapes and colour. I constantly moved from one piece to the next, as paint dried, so there was no momentum lost, which felt vital in preventing my inclination towards perfectionism from getting involved and ruining my fun. I was so pleased with the end result, as what I could see was exactly what I was experiencing as I worked; it had been such an intense, vibrant and joyful experience, quite removed from the mood I had arrived with. I left the studio feeling buoyed on to keep exploring, I feel like Im on the right path.

A Question of Authorship

16/04/2022 by Naomi Elfred-Ross

Bruce has recently commissioned me to do two screen prints for him; one of him and one of his partner, Kathryn. I have wanted to do a portrait of Bruce for some time now and having recently had the opportunity to dip my toe back in the world of screen printing, I have been reminded of how much I enjoy the process and the vibrant impact of the end result. Theres something quite joyous about its boldness. This reintroduction was the creation of a self portrait and one of my husband, Adam. I monoprinted the background, working gesturally and rapidly, as I was using the screen.

I then created templates taken from photographs of Adam and I (I dont have access to the technology of photographic screen printing) and screen printed the images, in black, on top.

The end result had a real pop art sort of flavour and I am hoping that Andy Warhol doesnt try to sue me, from the grave, although I have a suspicion that he wouldnt mind. The portraits are meant as a gift for our 10 year wedding anniversary, which is later this month, so all of this is top secret information! Anyway, I was pleased and flattered that Bruce had asked me to do this for him. As we conversed through messenger, a discussion about who took the photos that were used for the print took place. Bruce was very much of the opinion that, if I were to have full authorship over the end result, I should take the photos. I must admit, that was my initial intention.

However, I also started to reflect that I was not the photographer here and have never claimed to be. I take snaps with my camera phone, which is particularly helpful when Im thinking about the composition of an artwork of gathering ideas.

I use my phone as a sort of sketchbook, but I am an amateur. Whereas, Bruces brand is very much in the field of photography, in which he has become quite the icon. I was interested in the idea of recontextualising his images, using a different medium. I was also interested in the relationship between Kathryn and Bruce and what each might draw out of the other, as they sat for one another. Surely the camera would see something I would have no hope of finding? Theres an argument either way, so in many ways, I am open to try different approaches and to see what grabs me. However, it was the matter of authorship that really got me thinking.

What does it mean to have full authorship over a work of art and is it at all possible? I also wondered why it is necessary. It felt like a very purist way of thinking and given that artists have an important role in drawing ideas from and commenting on the world existing around them, are we not borrowing and reappropriating all the time, in a world of mass media and information overload? It is surely impossible to block all of that out and create from scratch. Can it not be said that, even though an artist might borrow and reappropriate ideas from other sources, the end result will surely bring a new way of seeing. Returning to the pop art movement and Andy Warhol specifically, he had intentionally sought to produce work that was mass produced and as anonymous as an advert on a billboard, but his work is still always recognisably his. As was his intention, he had no shame in borrowing from mass culture and yet he could not avoid but bring something new and exciting and this could only have come from him, the artist, the author. Warhol was interested in iconic brands and for me, Bruce is my iconic brand, he is Citizen Wang and as an artist of a different discipline, I want to reinterpret his work. To give it a new context.

My thoughts then turned to the Dadaists, which is a movement both Bruce and I have often talked about and are very much defined by the reappropriation of pre-existing objects. MoMA defines appropriation as the intentional borrowing, altering or copying of pre-existing images and objects. It has been a well used form of expression for well over a century and the practice was, in fact, thought do be pioneered by dadaism. Marcel Duchamp, one of the key figures of the movement made readymades, by selecting and modifying readymade objects. He also used an approach that involved simply repositioning and then signing an object he had chosen, imbuing a sense of irony and downright cheekiness. Marlene Dumas is a favourite artist of mine who rarely, if ever, works from life. Instead, she borrows from media images and historical references. Her ghostly portraits are intense and emotionally charged, as they address existential themes and political topics. She often deals with controversial topics and so the use of borrowed images enables her to have the necessary distance from the subject to enable her to paint. What emerges is something quite unique and would not be recognised as anything but a work by Dumas, in her very unique style. Surely there is no question of authorship here. However, the subject of authorship is something that artists continue to grapple with and understandably so as we do live in a culture of mass litigation!

I was recently having a conversation with a fellow printmaker, who said that he felt he always had to start his creative process by observing and sketching from life. This is, of course, a personal choice and he seemed to have no issue with others using different approaches. Perhaps it is something he enjoys doing and thats fair enough. However, I prefer to feel the freedom to choose. I find there is much inspiration to be gleaned from browsing online and hacking up newspapers and magazines, as it tells me about the world around me from a range of perspectives, not just mine. So, coming back to how I will approach Bruces commission. Well, I suppose, as he is paying me, he must be allowed some input, but it he wants a work that Naomi Elfred-Ross can sign, as her own, with confidence, I have to request my creative freedom and hope that hes onboard, as Im potentially reliant on him lending me something of himself. I can only hope that he will feel flattered by my wish to offer my own perspective of him and Kathryn and the brand of Citizen Wang. What do you say Bruce?

Ps. Some of the thoughts and assertions made in this blog have been borrowed and reappropriated for the purpose of my argument. I am unable to recall many of the sources, as it is all information stored in my brain from the many occasions I have flicked through art magazines or online searches. I give thanks to all those unremembered contributors to this piece.

WHY ART SHOULD BE INSULTING AND OFFENSIVE

Tracey Emin, Andreas Gursky, Vincent Van Gogh. Offensive and Insulting: The Role of Art in Society

I recently shared an image with Bruce which had piqued my interest. It was taken from a new exhibition and showed a multi-generational family. The exhibition intended to explore the effects of time and of nature versus nurture. I was interested to see the exhibition as I curious about the dynamics that exist in families. This is possibly because my own experience of family has been of one that was incredibly fractured, isolated and insular and now, largely, gone. I felt myself looking at these images and recognising something that I either once had, but now miss, or that has been absent, but longed for. For me, these photographs had played arts most fundamental role, as they had moved me in a not entirely comfortable, but necessary way. I had learnt something about myself and something of the commonality of what it is to be human.

I had thought Bruce might be interested, as he takes photographic portraits and is interested in using this medium to capture the unguarded essence of each individual sitter; no easy task. So I was surprised to find that he was not impressed. He replied that he thought the role of art was to be insulting and offensive. Somehow, I had felt a little offended by this abrupt response; in a world that feels so full of insults and offence, why would we seek it out in art? This was my gut reaction anyway. Then I started to wonder if Bruce had, in fact, been offended by the images I shared. Had these images pushed a button and had subtly achieved exactly what he had thought they lacked? Isnt this what art is good at; communicating with us, while our guard is down and so it can be processed on a much deeper level?

I recently visited an exhibition of Andreas Gurskys photographs, at the White Cube gallery and found myself struggling to connect with many of these expansive and visually impressive images. Adam, who I was with, said that he found them too perfect and I agreed with that. They were so crisp and defined and had a sense of hyperreality which made me feel chilled. I also got very little sense of human presence, many of these images being representational of capitalist culture, represented by buildings or advertisements or models on a catwalk who looked more like menacing robots than anything I could relate to. I could not say I particularly enjoyed the exhibition, on the whole. However, it had certainly affected me as it reflected something of my experience of the culture I live in on a daily basis and how it can make me feel. I felt uncomfortable because Gursky was doing his job as an artist.

I particularly like the White Cube gallery as it is a space that offers the art it displays a blank canvas. The artist and curator work together on showing art exactly as it is intended to be seen. The gallery has the luxury of not being a major tourist destination, like the Tate for example, and so has no need to pander to this industry in any way. It has a shop, but one would be hard pushed to describe it as a gift shop. It is a bookshop with some seriously stunning exhibition catalogues to lust over. While I am drawn to the gallery gift shop, I can see how degrading some of the merchandise can be. This particularly struck me when visiting an exhibition of Van Goghs self-portraits. Van Gogh being my first love, as an artist, I really relished the opportunity to see these highly personal paintings in close quarters, which told the story of a genius of a man in deep turmoil. It had felt like an honour. Yet on arriving at the gift shop, what was I met with but pencil erasers depicting the severed ear of this tortured soul. This seemed to be in deeply bad taste and I was glad to later hear that this particular item had been discontinued.

I am profoundly grateful when a gallery does not ask the visitor to read reams of text that are supposed to serve to explain what is in front of them. I find this practice rather patronising, as it seems to assume we, the audience, are incapable of having our own experience of what is in front of us. In my view, text in galleries, which frequently reads as nonsense, takes us to the wrong side of the brain and so we are not able to be fully creatively receptive. I frustrate myself often that the good girl in me obediently attempts to read the text, but seldom fully takes it in, because I resent what I feel Im being made to do. However, I think there is an element of FOMO happening for me; what if I miss out on some crucial bit of information? The White Cube do offer a pamphlet, which I tend to take away with me and read afterwards, should I feel the need to know more. A good compromise, I feel, as the gallery might be in danger of appearing too elite, if it did not offer something to satisfy a diversity of visitors.

I spent an enjoyable period of time volunteering as front of house staff at a small independent gallery and came to really appreciate the work that goes into making an exhibition. It is such a fine balance to achieve to ensure the artist and their work is represented as they would wish, and that it also responds to the needs of the gallerys visitors. This gallery was in a popular tourist spot and so it attracted a diverse mix of visitors, including many school groups and people from around the world. Some visited to be educated, some because they were artists, others purely to pass the time, or because their mother or father made them do something cultural on their visit to London. So many people to please! I think this experience gave me some insight into how and why certain decisions are made, as the gallery is essentially a business and it has to make decisions about who it seeks to attract and the needs of this clientele. So, with this insider knowledge, I understood that sometimes we have to take and appreciate the bits we like and try and tolerate the rest. These are public spaces and so we do need to share.

Thinking on this subject, I began to muse on my own artwork. What did it communicate to the world? Was it insulting or offensive in any way, and how would I want it to be seen? I am a big fan of Tracy Emin; but I havent always been, because I initially thought her work incredibly self-indulgent and narcissistic and this really bothered me. Yet here was a female artist taking a bold step into a patriarchal establishment and telling the world something of what it was like to be a woman. So, was I not actually subscribing to a deeply flawed status quo and should I not have been truly grateful to Emin for opening my eyes? And yes, sometimes it really is necessary to communicate ideas with the subtlety of a sledgehammer when they really do need to be heard and seen! She was sharing a deeply personal story and I have later come to appreciate this and some of its more subtle nuance, once I dropped my guard. I am so grateful, because in telling her story, she tells some of mine too. Emin and those of her ilk have enabled me, as an artist, to be bold enough to work autobiographically, without shame, because I know the value of how art serves to reconnect us with one another, telling stories that we recognise, so we know we are not alone, in what can feel like an increasingly lonely world. Art rails against capitalist culture in this way and that is something to be applauded. No wonder artists are often so undermined and diminished. So, perhaps, in its way, I do hope that my work might offend and insult occasionally, as I certainly tell a story that many may find unpalatable.

I often fantasise about exhibitions of my work that I would like to have; how I would wish each piece to be seen. I do think it a terrible shame that, for emerging artists, it is so hard/almost impossible to obtain spaces to exhibit in. How are any of us ever meant to be seen? Will we ever be seen other than on the flooded market that is Instagram? The truth is, many great artists are never given the exposure they deserve, which feels like something that has not changed in the art world for far too many years. Just think of Van Gogh, he was not alone in his plight. It does seem that it remains a case of who you know, how much money you have and more recently, what minority group is it currently fashionable to be making some pretence at sympathising with (perhaps I am cynical). Artists should surely be recognised on individual merit, which has nothing to do with the colour of their skin, their gender of the state of their mental health. I find this so patronising to the very real struggles of marginalised groups and seems to only serve to highlight difference and reinforce divisions. Perhaps I am being too idealistic though, but surely idealism is how we continue to strive to progress to be something better and is that not the artists role also?

So, should art be offensive and insulting? Yes, I think that is part of its role, but to define it purely as such would be far too narrow and insulting, because it does so much more than that. The best art, for me, depicts humanity and the world, with all its facets and guises. It connects, educates and inspires and is a catalyst for the possibility of positive change in the individual, but also in society and even globally. This can be achieved subtly or forcefully, we are all different and will respond in our own unique way. There is no right or wrong. By Naomi Elfred-Ross

How To make your own Pop Art Portrait

By Naomi Elfred-Ross

I am really enjoying exploring the world of screen printing right now, as it is a relatively new process for me to use, but hugely rewarding. Having recently completed a commission for a double portrait of Bruce and Kathryn, and as the process becomes much clearer in my mind, I thought I would take the opportunity to share with you how to do it.

The portraits I make are in the style of Any Warhol’s work, although he used photographic screen printing. This way, Warhol’s image could be printed over and over, appealing to his interest in societal and consumerist mass consumption. This is not possible for me, as I don’t have access to the necessary facilities, so my approach is through stencil making; derived from a photograph. This is, of course, much more time consuming, but there is something to be said for the hand made element of my prints. Each image is a one off and the life of the stencil only lasts as long as the run of prints. The process I use it to layer a monotone stencilled screen print on top of a mono screen print, which adds colour. These approaches have a vibrantly contrasting effect.

The Anxious Artist

Yesterday morning, as I lay in my bed, trying to rouse myself, I was in my usual state of indecision about how to spend the day. I tend to function better if I have definite things scheduled into my day, but I am trying to learn how to venture into the unknown and panic inducing territory of unstructured time.

I had an idea that I really wanted to visit the Lucian Freud exhibition, at the Freud Museum, a place so familiar to me from when I worked as a community mental health nurse at the Tavistock Centre, which is very close by. We even had the odd training day there, so there was a feeling of apprehension of treading the path of, what felt like, a former life.

The other obstacle, which felt like the real test, was the challenge of getting myself there. It is just a short train ride and a walk, but since all things Covid, getting public transport has been extremely difficult for me. I feel really frustrated about this, as getting out and about was one thing I could do with relative ease before. Now, there is a heady cocktail of anxiety that doesn’t seem as straightforward as a fear of catching the virus, although this is in the mix, but more the knock-on effect of what that would mean in terms of having to isolate myself and cut myself off from the supports systems I depend on. Additionally, there is the sense of responsibility towards those more vulnerable than I am. What is more and probably most significantly, I am also haunted by regular flashbacks of the image of my mother dying from the virus, as I watched helplessly, through my cracked phone screen. I watch others as they return to ‘normal’ life with wonder, in my FFP3 mask. In many ways, I remain paralysed, despite regular efforts to keep pushing myself forwards regardless, even though my world feels like it’s been turned upside-down.

So, I was feeling quite a lot of anxiety, at the thought of the journey to the Freud Museum. However, having once been a CBT therapist, I knew that the avoidance of something only serves to confirm and enhance the fear. If I am to rewire myself, I need to act as though there is nothing to be afraid of. I must take the hand of that frightened child and show her that she is allowed to live her life. It isn’t that I haven’t used trains during the pandemic, but it never feels at all easy. So, I decided to lay down the gauntlet and challenge myself to do this. No, this journey was not essential, but I needed to do this for myself, to get some inspiration for my own practice and because I wanted to have something to share in this blog!

Lucien Freud has always been a favourite artist of mine. I even wrote my dissertation about his work for my art degree, way back in 1999. I was exploring artists who dealt with the theme of identity in their work. There is something very alive and almost brutally honest about his portraits. Freud strips his sitters, be they clad or nude and exposes the vulnerability that we all share, but do our best to pretend otherwise. It is evident that Freud spends a good deal of time getting to know and really considering his subject, scrutinising them in such a way that is not dissimilar to the work of his grandfather Sigmund. For this reason, my experience of viewing a Freud portrait, is rather voyeuristic, I can’t honestly say it is a comfortable experience and yet I feel a sense of privilege that I am permitted to have a glimpse into the world of another human being, facilitated by the Freud. We are also, of course, being invited into the inner world of the artist, as what Freud paints evidently holds great meaning for him and he has spoken of his work as being autobiographical. I wonder what artist could say otherwise? The opportunity for such an insight into the lived experience of the other reminds me of humbling experience of my work, as a nurse, when a young person would sit with me and trust me enough to tentatively take steps towards exposing their pain, sometimes for the first time.

As these thought’s passed through my mind, I felt enough motivation to make the trip to the exhibition and allowed myself to feel a real sense of pride. I was not only meeting the challenge, but I was also taking care of myself, which is something I find hard to do. As is often the case with anxiety, the anticipation of the journey caused me to feel more anxious than the actual journey itself. As I write this, 24 hours later, I cannot believe what I put myself though on a regular basis when it is so unnecessary. However, I also know that beating myself up about it only makes things worse. For me, confronting this particular fear is as anxiety inducing as jumping out of an aeroplane might be for another. In fact, sometimes I think I would cope better with the latter! So, I went through the motions which are normally involved in getting out of the house, a painstakingly long and protracted process (something that needs work). Then, putting on a favourite summer frock and painting on my best face, ready to face the world. At this stage, I am already pretty exhausted, purely because of the mental turmoil.

Reader; I made it! I was treading the boards of Sigmund Freud’s former London home. Having visited the museum a number of times, I was keen to head straight to the Lucien Freud exhibition, which was appropriately focused on his early years and family life, allowing a glimpse into the formative experiences and relationships, which shaped him as an artist. I was lucky enough to have the space largely to myself, which meant I was really able to linger and absorb the work and even though the exhibition was small, there was plenty to appreciate and digest.

Some of Freuds’ childhood drawings and illustrated letters were included in the exhibition and it was no surprise to discover he had a rich inner world and creative mind from a young age. Into adulthood, the paintings, drawings and etchings on display were all of friends and family members and so, inevitably, each work was imbued with rich and multiple layers of meaning. I was struck by the time spent and rich, generous texture of paint, almost becoming sculptural, which Freud used, particularly on his subjects’ faces. There was a strong sense of intense observation and immense emotion invested with each stroke.

I was interested to learn of Freud’s complex relationship with his parents, particularly with his mother, who he had felt suffocated by, as she had placed him on a pedestal. I know from experience that this is a precarious place to inhabit. Then there was is father, who he didn’t connect with and had experienced as controlling. As a means of escape from this intensity, he threw himself into art from a young age and into his passion for horses, which brought him a sense of freedom desperately needed. The exhibition includes a rare sculpture of a horse, made by Freud. It is, perhaps, no surprise, that later in life his relationship with women was so complex.

Freud’s relationship with his mother improved as she got older and became less domineering, after the death of Freud’s father. She then became a subject for many of his portraits. One of which, an etching, was on display at the exhibition. I recalled how I had frequently felt the desire to do portraits of my own mother. When approaching this urge, I always became too emotionally overwhelmed to be able to even approach making a start. Such complex emotions arise just thinking about it. Several times, since my mother’s death, I have considered doing a portrait of her, but as I type these words, I feel my stomach is in knots at the idea. Writing and illustrating ‘Goodbye Mama Cat’ felt like a less direct approach and somehow more bearable. The characters I created for the book were cats and this established a sufficient level of emotional detachment. Knowing this, I can fully appreciate exactly what Freud had invested in taking this step himself, the courage of such an emotional investment is immense. I thought that this was evident in the etching on display, with its expressive mark making and evident attention to capturing mood both of his sitter and of himself.

(‘The Painters’ Mother’ 1982, etching by Lucien Freud)

Other paintings on display brought alive the development of his family and other important relationships, as they evolved through his 60-year career. The exhibition also included Freuds love of books, perhaps another means of escape from the intensity of some of those relationships and the act of portrait painting, as well as for inspiration. This was something I very much related to, as my home would not feel like my own if it were without books. This is equally important as having a feline presence.

I am so glad that I confronted my anxiety by going to this creatively nourishing and fascinating exhibition. I now intend to keep gently nudging myself to do more of the same. I hope that gradually and over time, this will get much easier and that gradually the traumatic image that I find so hard to let go of will gently fade, as I allow my mum to rest in peace. Who knows in which direction my creative and life journey will take me then.

(Illustration taken from ‘Goodbye Mama Cat’ by Naomi Elfred-Ross)

By Naomi Elfred-Ross

I watched this for the first time 4 years after its release and as a drag queen who knows some Crazy Rich Singaporeans in real life, I found it awful on many levels. I won’t watch this again.  It is now on my list of movies that I will turn off even if there is nothing else whatsoever to watch.  Trying to be positive, the depictions of lavishness were good at times but the story, cast and messages combined to make this a terrible ordeal.

Let us start with the fact that the story is classic Cinderella where rich boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girl back – all of which I saw coming a mile off. I guess there is an argument that some of the charm of these rom coms is that we see these clues and enjoy watching it play out.  Sadly that is not what I find enjoyable – I like at least something unexpected.  The film’s obvious plot is so signposted for even the blindest and unaware film watchers out there, that I became sure there was going to be a twist because surely nothing could be this obvious.  But twist came there none. Something clever? Route-1-0-1 point 2? Didn’t happen. Even a mole rat from Papua New Guinea who had never seen a film before would be able to guess the ending after the set up.  

Which brings me to the set up before the set up. This is by far the worst bit of the film.  I first decided to watch the film on a flight into Singapore and could not make it past the pre-Singapore prologue.  This prologue comes before the film gets to Singapore, the Gateway to the East, where the action in this inexplicably popular film takes place. The important moment in this prologue, designed to hook people in and explain how rich, Crazy Rich even, these people are, is when some old fashioned snobby white employees in a central London hotel in the 80s are surprised to learn that the helpless and soaked-through Chinese family they have been less than warm towards are, in fact, the new owners of the hotel and their new de facto bosses.  This again left me cold because I saw it coming.  Also, does anyone realise that the hotel manager (who did not get a comeuppance incidentally, except for loss of face – a Chinese punishment but not much of one for an Englishman) and staff treated the Chinese family with the very same snobbery and disdain that the same Chinese family are surrounded by, Chinese-style, in the rest of the story? In the rest of the film, set in modern day post-colonial Singapore, this Chinese snobbery and disdain runs deeply and becomes even quite threatening, going so far as to issue a Corleone / Godfather-style ‘horse head in the bed’ warning (in this case, a gutted fish in the bed with written message), meted out to the innocent foreign person, Rachel, who is intruding into this world uninvited and unwelcome.  What’s the difference?

The Cinderella part of the story starts with a good looking cis hetero East Asian couple, one of whom, the guy Nick, is Crazy Rich, unbeknownst to the other, Rachel (Constance Wu).  Rachel is very successful – and this is important… successful on merit – and is the youngest Professor of Economics at NYU.  But she is not rich.  Well off, I guess.  But Crazy Rich?  No.  I must have missed what Nick does for a living, but he is also similarly successful and more importantly he is good looking, charming and in love with Rachel.  He also has a British accent, explained by the fact he went to an English boarding school.

And this annoyed me a lot.  Singaporeans are very proud of Singapore and all its quirks, the biggest quirk being its unique accent.  I know Singaporeans who went to school in England (and ones who went to US schools too) and they do talk with less of a pronounced Singaporean accent in real life – but they all CAN speak the accent when they want AND they often (if not always) throw in the accent’s idiosyncrasies, whether they are talking in RP, standard American or not.  Let’s go-lah! Eat-lah! Anything at all-lah!  They will often use a verb when an answer is begged.  “Can we go to the film?” will elicit the answer “Can!” (or “cannot”!) more often than a simple yes or no.  But can we see a single sign of this lovely and unique eccentricity in the entirely of the film? Cannot!  The reason for this (and I know this from experience) is because it is an extremely hard accent to mimic and master.  I am not aware of any single non Singaporean/Malaysian who has mastered this accent.  In fact, google it and you will find zero instances of any actor showing off their mastery of this unique and impossible accent.

And so, because the cast appear to be not Singaporean in the main (for commercial reasons?), we have a slew of US comedians and British actors playing the roles of Crazy Rich Singaporeans, not a single one of whom can do the accent.  This is extremely annoying not to mention insulting to Singaporean actors, who are good and could do any of these roles the US/British actors play.  To add insult to injury, this cast do not even try to make the accent work.  In fact, it is a whole 27 minutes before we hear a very small side character, Mrs Goh, speak with anything like an authentic Singaporean accent. I understand in Singaporean cinemas, when she finally opened her mouth to say her line, Mrs Goh got a huge laugh and round of applause.  A laugh of appreciation, I reckon, and relief and recognition that their country had not been completely edited out more than it being just a funny line (which it is not, so much).  

What made it even more difficult to suspend my disbelief in this cast of Crazy Rich Singaporean characters was that the “normal” East Asian Cinderella girl, Rachel, is an ABC; an American Born Chinese girl to a Singaporean mother, who we learn had to flee the island country back in the day to give birth, because of … plausible reasons.  This is all fine, but I happened to have been told, many years before this film came out, that the actress playing the mother is, in real life, a genuinely Crazy Rich Singaporean.  I am told that she is worth more than the rest of the cast put together in real life.  This is not widely known (nor is it important in itself) but this inside knowledge only served to reinforce how badly cast this film felt to me in terms of authenticity.  I don’t want to get into net worth etc here and I am 100% not saying that a rich actor could not play this a poor character – in fact I thought the actress in question gave one of the better performances in the film - but I will try and explain my beef using an analogy: 

Julia Louis-Dreyfus, regardless of her salary and wages as a TV star is independently family rich. Crazy Rich you could say. Her dad is a billionaire. Her acting ability is not in question, but if Julia Louis-Dreyfus were to be cast in the remake of Trading Places in the Eddie Murphy role as the poor person who suddenly becomes rich, it would grate.  It would not make sense and the casting would work against the story.

Ditto here for me.  In this film, we have non-Crazy Rich Singaporeans with bad accents, playing Singaporeans in Singapore and a real-life Crazy Rich Singaporean in New York, playing a poor person with a US accent.  

I guess the one big defence of this casting (and the more grave offence to me, ignoring the accent), is that it makes the story easier to follow for Western audiences.  And that is the ultimate defence.  The film made £240m!  It was a great success!  Shut the fuck up already about the accents and authenticity and who is really rich and who isn’t!  It’s a film not a documentary!  Use your imagination!

I understand this argument and by invoking it we are starting to enter the argument that Scorsese posed recently, that content is getting confused with cinema.  From many perspectives, if a film makes £240m then it is a success regardless of the content.  I get it.   But, of course, popularity does not a good film make.  (Transformers?).  Is this film really a good film because it is popular and made money?  Not for this pretentious drag queen, it is not.  At all.

I can’t let this go.  I found it annoying that Ken Jeong and the US comedians Ronny Chieng and Jimmy Yang could not do the Singaporean accent and instead each chose to do a generic East Asian accent.  Why not just use their own accents?  Is it nowadays acceptable for an East Asian actor to do the sort of faux generic accent that led Hank Azaria to quit doing Apu’s voice in The Simpsons?  At least in Apu’s case, the character is likeable and Azaria’s mastery of the accent is top notch.  Not here, though!  Not only are the various faux accents not compatible with one another and all over the place, the characters are all loathsome and terrible people. This does not put East Asians more into the Western Culture mainstream, as I have seen argued elsewhere, but the complete opposite.  It reinforces marginalisation and otherness and tells westerners that yes, all these accents are different but the same!  It’s all unfathomable and it is all new!  Korean is Singaporean! American Filipino is British Chinese! Who cares?!  This film is arguably classic Orientalism, looking at a culture through the white lens of the West to create an Orient that does not actually exist but is jaw dropping and incredible.  It is defined by its otherness to the world westerners know, and whether it is authentic or not is not important.

OK.  I could go on about this but let us look at themes in the film itself.  The story of the sister Astrid played by British actor Gemma Chan, and her marriage falling apart rung a few bells with me.  The idea that obscene wealth undermines the value of working and earning a living is something that I myself have faced in my real life. I sympathise with the (relatively) poor husband in this case, not the wealthy wife Astrid, who is so rich and enjoys spending her money on frivolous things so much that she has to hide them from her “sensitive” husband so as not to undermine his sense of self and, ultimately, his masculinity and self of self.  In my case, many years ago I was starting a relationship with a wealthy person. Very wealthy, not Crazy Rich by any means, but wealthy enough to buy two London houses in Stockwell, London and knock them together without any struggle.  I realised soon that anything I cared about was rendered completely worthless in this relationship because I would earn less in a year of striving than they had spent without a second thought on new kitchen floorboards.  Feeling like you bring value is a real thing.  The question I had to ask myself in the 1990s, like the husband in the film’s sub-plot, was: do I like the perks (which were pretty good materialistically) more than I like being my own person?  For me the answer was no! 

I therefore could understand the motivation of the husband in this film to cheat on his lovely and beautiful Crazy Rich wife.  Sadly, this was little more of a side issue to the main film but this toe-dipping exploration into the idea that absolute limitless wealth corrupts morals is the one part of the film I found potentially interesting.  In point of fact, we were supposed to feel sorry for Astrid not being able to flaunt her wealth frivolously, and did not spend much time at all on the more interesting question of why this might make people feel worthless and look to have an affair – the affair being about seizing power, not sex.  The husband’s story ended as he was cast out from the Crazy Rich environs. It is assumed that Charlie (the husband) would now be miserable having been banished from the Crazy Rich ivory tower, but the reality is that he would likely be much more happy not being surrounded by these terrible people, no longer feeling helpless and powerless and worthless.  This would be an interesting look at Crazy Richness.  But it is not what this film looked at

The story of Nick’s mother, (whose casting was one of the few I had no problem with, Malaysian stalwart at the top of her game, Michelle Yeoh) who pits herself against her prospective daughter in law, Rachel, is more or less the main story.  Mum is the reason Boy Loses Girl.  Tiger mum, of course wants her son to do better, but this is a confused concept here.  In Crazy Rich world, being better suited as hunky Nick’s (a one dimensional Henry Golding) wife is to be 1. richer (as Rachel discovers on the hen’s party).  It is also to be 2. less American.  This could be interesting too but again it somehow isn’t.  American here is shorthand for Western and Tiger Mum Eleanor says to be American is “selfishness” when contrasted with China’s more pragmatic long game and respect for history and tradition.  This is indeed interesting and can be seen to be at play in real life.  Here in the film, though, it is inevitable that the battle between these two ideologies will be won by America!  It’s how Rom Coms work and you can see it coming a mile off.  The traditional, long-game-respecting and respectful Chinese interpretation of what will work is, by the end of the film, seen as flawed by Eleanor as the penny drops that American selfishness is the true path to success and happiness.

(Success, let us not forget in the terms of the film, is to get to spend the rest of your life surrounded by twats and arseholes who look down on you, going shopping with jealous and spoiled vicious and callous Asians, who live cartoonish, empty and meaningless lives and having so much money that people feel worthless just by being married to it.)  

In real life, we see America in a quandary, polarised politically and fighting itself - all the while looking, without any answers, at China as it becomes more and more powerful in the world.  While inflation is killing Western Europe and choking growth in US, China’s inflation is unmoved.  It doesn’t matter why this is the case but the fact is the West has no answers to any of this and can only but watch as China solidifies its position as the number 1 economic powerhouse on the planet.

This theme, that Chinese pragmatism has a lot to learn from and will yield to Western ideals of love (aka short term selfishness) is the true fairy tale in this story.  China is not #1 yet but there is nothing America can do to stop this from happening. In real life, Chinese Pragmatism is superior to American ideals and will prevail and yet we can still enjoy fairy tales.  If that were the message of this film, I would applaud it.  But it isn’t.  This is trite nonsense masquerading as insight.

Fairy tales have a place, but this particular one is over dressed and confused, the moral of its story is flawed and, in doing all this, it also reinforces racial and cultural stereotypes that are head shakingly retrograde. If this is what the West thinks the East is like, no wonder China is outwitting it at every turn geopolitically and economically.  

Film verdict 3 out of 10.  Lightweight. A few good jokes, good photography and lavish locations. 

Thank You NHS

30th July 2022

By Naomi Elfred-Ross

The Anxious Artist

Recently, when I was unpacking the shopping, I thought I would put on the radio. Unfortunately, my timing wasn't great and I was unlucky enough to tune into the news, which I would normally try to avoid. Usually I would try and catch myself and tune out asap, as there always tends to be something to worry about, especially in these ‘interesting’ times. However, this time I was hooked and reeled in to the Tory leadership debate. I knew this wouldn’t be good listen, but the masochist in me needed to hear the inevitable horror story. I think if someone suffers from an anxiety disorder, there is often a lot of free-floating anxiety that needs to find things to attach itself to and these days there is no shortage of options. I think there is a protective function somewhere in there; something about the need to be hyper vigilant to potential danger, because I would otherwise be vulnerable to the unexpected monsters which lurk in the shadows. This way of coping may have once been useful to me in my life, the only problem is, it’s hard to shake off, now I no longer necessarily need it.

The conversation found its way to public spending and a particular favourite candidate being very much in favour of making immediate cuts, in order to reduce taxes. I immediately started to panic, as my mind immediately jumped to the NHS, which is already being sabotaged in every way possible. Our precious health service, which has given so much love and care to so many people is disappearing before our eyes and it seems there is so little that can be done about it. Also, having worked for many years for the NHS, I feel additionally protective. I eventually forced myself to turn the radio off, as my stomach was now in knots and my mind was going to places of catastrophe and that helps nobody. I tried to focus on the task at hand and put the groceries away and get on with the day. 

I must have been reasonably successful, as it wasn’t until the following day, when I was out for my daily walk, that my thoughts returned to the NHS. However, this time in a more constructive way. I had been listening to an audiobook by Evelyn Waugh, which was about an artist during wartime, whose son had been sent to the front. The protagonist felt a deep sense of helplessness, both in being unable to protect his son, but also in his role in the war effort in generally. He initially abandoned his work, feeling it was irrelevant given all that was happening in the world. However, latterly, having connected with other artists he began to reconsider and recognised the artists role at times of such conflict, in bringing life and hope to a world that otherwise feels as though it is on its knees, intent on destruction.

As an artist, I have often wondered what value my work had. What was the point in the art that I make? It has always felt important that my work has some meaning and is in some way helpful to others. For me, art has the capacity explore and communicate some really challenging matters in such a way that it catches people unaware and so reaches them at a much deeper level, than if they were to be simply listening to the news. Art tends to be less threatening and so our defences are more likely to be down, as we are not expecting to be challenged in the same way and so we are more receptive. By contrast, the news is like a slap around the face. 

So, with all of the above in mind. I turned my thoughts to my local hospital, Whipps Cross, and the service it has given to me, over the years. Yes, there have been times when I have been frustrated and haven’t necessarily had a good experience, nothing is perfect. However, the overwhelming feeling I have had, when I have been treated at the hospital and it’s connected services, has been one where I have been treated incredibly well. I would say the struggles I have had, for the most part, have been related to cuts to funding. The building itself has often been criticised too and it is certainly in need of some love, and in the past, I have been tempted to think similarly. However, I now look at it quite differently.

The pop artist Corita Kent spoke about seeing beauty everywhere and that it is not just in nature and things generally thought of as aesthetically pleasing, but also in the everyday and mundane. She celebrated billboards, adverts and shops signs and showed that, when approached from a certain angle, we really are surrounded by beauty. 

As an artist, I very much enjoy Corita’s way of seeing the world. I had once heard that artists are able to think ‘out of the box’ because they have been found to be deficient in dopamine. Of course, the downside is that that also makes us vulnerable to mental health struggles, but I appreciate the silver lining! In fact, I often manage my anxiety by switching to the more creative side of my brain and one of these ways is by using my camera phone to take pictures of the ‘everyday’, but from a new perspective. It’s good fun! I decided, therefore, to pay a visit to Whipps Cross and take some arty snaps. I thought that I could then manipulate and edit the images, so I can make them into templates to create screen prints that would celebrate the beauty of our humble, yet magnificent health service.

Arriving at the hospital, I felt rather self-conscious, as I had not come for an appointment and felt like I was trespassing or an imposter. Would people wonder what this strange person was doing and what on earth is she finding so interesting? This thought made me laugh to myself, as I imagined I had been categorised as ‘weird arty sort’ pretty swiftly, for those paying attention, and I didn’t mind in the least. I had fun really exploring the old buildings of the hospital and venturing down alleyways and paths that I had never explored in the past, probably because I was too focused whatever ailment I was needing tending to. I wondered at the history it held and the lives that had passed through its doors. I focus particularly on looking up, as this is where the architecture is truly revealed, without obstruction and I enjoyed the backdrop of a rather moody looking sky. I later discovered the hospital was originally an infirmary, during the Great War, caring for thousands of wounded servicemen. Then changing its name to Whipps Cross Hospital in 1917, to coincide with the visit of King George V and Mary Queen. Fascinating! I also explored the newer buildings, as we tend to dismiss modern architecture as ugly, which I don’t think is necessarily true. 

However, what surprisingly really grabbed my attention were the signposts. The humble signposts are unsung heroes; we rely on them to help us find our way to our varied appointments and yet, until now, I’m not sure I had truly paid attention to them. I enjoyed the multicolours that are used as an aide and the shapes they created, which framed and gave a new perspective to the surroundings. I took lots of snaps and then sat by the Hollow Ponds opposite (part of Epping Forest), and thoroughly enjoyed myself editing and creating interesting compositions.

What will I do with them? Well, I’m really enjoying my screen printing right now, so I will create some interesting templates, do a bit of layering, add colour… I’m not entirely sure yet, but I’m going to enjoy finding out and look forward to sharing the results with you all. No, I don’t expect these prints will save the day, but they can be a message to whoever sees them that the NHS is loved and worth celebrating. The prints can be my message of thanks. Perhaps I can raise a few pennies to donate to Whipps Cross too, that would be a bonus! In the meantime, I get to feel a little less helpless and afraid, when I listen to the news. It is a drop in the ocean, but at least I’m doing something.

Photographs taken by Naomi Elfred-Ross (2022)

Screenprints, made in the style of Corita Kent, by Naomi Elfred-Ross (2018)

Bingo Mania by Debs

My life is a happy accident. I met Bruce as his cleaner via an agency and ended up as his web developer and SEO planner. This is how citizenwangstudio.com exists..

In 2016 I won a small bingo Jackpot and took myself on holiday to Jamaica. It was there I met Bruce - not Bruce Wang but Bruce Spencer.. In a month we were married and have been ever since.

It is a struggle for me though as I had no income in Jamaica only what was in my bank which was getting smaller by the day.. As we were kind of randomly married we were investigated to see if we were a genuine couple.. This caused me to lose my passport for several months making my rent accrue in the UK..

Eventually they evicted me while I was still over there..

Obviously I have to return to see my family and deal with my life in the UK and have had to rely on my friends for somewhere to stay.

All I can say is a massive thank you to them.

I found a cleaning agency in London who gave me some work and that is how I met Bruce Wang.

After about 5 or 6 cleans one night he asked me if I knew anything about computers? He was stuck with something. Can I fix it?

Luckily for me and Bruce I am interested in tech, I did a degree course in computing back in 2005 and had built an android app.

The long and the short of it is that I did fix it..

Bruce told me about his photography business and his latest books he had created a few months before.

I told him I could build a website and handle his SEO... the rest is history.

I love bingo. It changed my life and maybe one day I will win the big one.

I am not saying people should gamble by any means. I watched a documentary about problem gambling on the BBC recently and it was sad to watch.

I am lucky... My life has panned out this way because of it..

Its been a rocky road but I'm getting there day-by-day.

I might lose sometimes trying to win jackpots but sometimes I actually do win something good.

I believe life is guided somehow and I love the randomness bingo wins bring. Maybe it's my lucky spirit that made me max out on that 1 game that guided me to my husband, Bruce and citizen wang studio.

Bingo also reminds me of my mum who passed away in 1993. We used to go every week.

But still I plod along with my web development as that is far more likely to get me the house I need to own so I can move backwards and forwards to the West Indies as I need. My husband and Spruce my step-son need me there as well as my family in the UK.

I need that miracle to happen. I was not born rich.

I am going out tonight with my daughter to land bingo at Leo Leisure.. Gareth Gates is opening the brand new hall.

I would like to win 1000 pounds but it could be anyone of us that wins the bingo! Ha

Forever Optimistic

Debs

Update: Just got back from bingo. I won 212 pounds.. It was a really wonderful night with some old faces of the days when my mother was here.

Happy days. I shared it with my daughter and it will add to her holiday fund.

Carl Haart interview 3 September 2022 - TJ

Play Audio

TJ:                   Thank you for taking those photographs. I can't wait to see them. 

Kathryn:           TJ. This interview is really just to talk to you about what's influenced you and your views and that kind of thing. 

TJ:                    No worries. 

Kathryn:           So I mean, you work here in a queer artist studio, the 343 in Cathedral Buildings in the heart of Belfast, which is just about to close down. Could you describe your performance?

TJ:                    For me? So Carl came about, I used to do really hyper femme burlesque. And then when we went into lockdown and I was allowed to be myself full-time, I realized I couldn't go back to being the character that I was before, which was really femme. 

So I decided to work on a new character and pulled inspiration from people that inspire me, like Dick Von Dyke.