A two artist tribute to the parallel worlds of the troubled human species and the natural world, through a series of anniversaries marked in the current year; 2009
Anniversaries including the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin, the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the 30th anniversary of the release of The Wall by Pink Floyd
John Ledger is the representative of the ManmadeBradley sharp is the representative of The Natural
“When man saw himself as separate to nature he began to build walls.
” All Walls must and will eventually fall. Nature, unlike man will always find a way to carry on.
HIVE Gallery, Elsecar Heritage Centre, Wath Road
Near Elsecar train station – between Sheffield and Barnsley.
12-4pm, Open Thursday to Sunday
19th November until 13th December
private view: Thursday 19th November 7-9pm
For any further information please contact
I’m not usually keen on displaying photographs I have taken unless they document a work of art – I’m not a particularly good photographer in this age when everyone seems to be trying to be so, and it isn’t where my work is at. However, on a rare and lonesome wander around the capital city, trying to avoid being in other peoples’ touristy photos, I was met with imagery which, to me, seemed very powerful, and worthy of documentation.
Walking towards Big Ben – possibly one of the most famous sights in this country -I came upon a dead tree. The dark branches, and the overcast day really highlighted it next to Big Ben. Me, always on the lookout for images to depict my 21st century anxieties, found it to be an image which required some meaning. For post-powerful, post recession Britain, in a world in the early stages of climate change, the tree looked like a specter looming over something which once thought itself indestructible. However, whatever you think, I hope you like the photographs.
On the London underground…
How can anyone be fully conscious and aware? in a city the size of London?; one moves so fast that it is virtually impossible to do so. There’s no long gaps between the trams, no places devoid of advertisements or ‘people a plenty’ (both of which require one to compare his/her lot physically or mentally – depending on what qualities that advert of facing person in question has), life is a clock and a race to be, either at work, or to be the best, at home relaxing or relaxing with friends – nothing is free to occur, nothing is free for the imagination.
But there again, who needs thoughts of this sort in a ultimately advanced capitalist city? all one needs is clocks and numbers, in fact that’s all one can afford to have, other thoughts get it the way of existing in such places – I even find this is true in much smaller cities, and my experience of London has confirmed that it must be doubly hard to think about things here.
In St Pancras Station, London
Is the task for the depressive to shakes one’s misery off by transferring it into creative output? Maybe all artists are depressives, but not all depressives are artists? but they could be.
Perhaps this is the depressives’ only saviour, as we – the depressives – know we cannot apply ourselves to anything else – not for any long period anyway. A depressive is an artist – even if it hasn’t been realised – and artists are incapable of living a normal life as such – one of a day job, and one accepting convention where, afterwards, enjoyment can be taken from time spent with people who are close to them.
A true artist is not an artist by choice; he/she is a born depressive – or at least, a depressive when they finally come into contact with the conventional human world – who’s artistic pursuits are the only thing keeping him/her from becoming utterly dysfunctional because of depression, especially dysfunctional in a modern industrial society.
Besides that fact there is simply a larger concentration of artists in heavily populated industrialized nations, perhaps these world’s of mechanical and mass products all around us, make an abundance of terminal depressives, who need to find a ‘voice’ within THE SPRAWL. This would explain the reason why there is so many artists, so many musicians, so many in the field of the arts, putting themselves ‘out there’ in such societies as our own – an advanced capitalist society, of mass produced consumer goods.
Ok, they won’t all ‘make it’ but this won’t stop them, as they cannot stop – not without becoming utterly dysfunctional depressives.
On the train, London to Sheffield
What am I thinking?!; the weak will never inherit the earth. I am weak; I am of weak mind. No matter how many ‘clever’ things I think about, I am destined, by my posture and mental wiring’s, to go nowhere, lose all my teeth and end up lonely.
This isn’t self pitying, believe me; it is ‘clear goggles’ thinking about myself, which says “you’ve been dreaming in a destiny all your life which will never be yours, no matter how clever some of your ideas may be. You are of weak mind when it comes to dealing with real life and its tasks”.
Written word has such a different affect on others to that of the spoken word/words in conversation, which means that hopefully people who know me can understand me more from my writings, as opposed to my ‘jellified’ manner, when in a conversation. In a conversation these thoughts would come across as melodramatic and self pitying; in written word what I am saying here is more likely to be seen as very honest.
I am sat here on the train, half panic-battered because I cannot cope with people – So I went to London by myself. However, I cannot function properly by myself either, i.e. going to food places, seeing stuff etc, are things I find impossible to undertake by myself. So, all I do is eternally drift through life. The production of art work is my only rock in this never ending sea of confusion and dissolution.