Bren O’Callaghan A Runaway at the Media Circus!

13Jan/12

Glassy eyed

Wandering around Manchester Town Hall today on my lunch break, hoping that inspiration might strike to help me build upon my commission by Larkin' About and Library Theatre Company for the Manchester Histories Festival. This is very much how my brain feels right now. A swirling pool whirlpool of research and ideas that needs to settle before I can row a boat out and sink a hook. Gorgeous windows. Glad I don't have to clean 'em. So many restricted spaces means that there isn't going to be much opportunity to run amok, exploring oubliettes, which is no bad thing. I must be disciplined. I must be static. Static doesn't have to be bad. I did take a fancy to a particular window alcove. I may go back with a large beach towel to claim my spot...

3Jan/12

No calories in dust

2Jan/12

Castle of Terror

24Dec/11

Richard of Battenberg

Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain, but had the unlucky fella had a slice of Teacup's festive rainbow Battenburg, he might have not minded quite so much. Strictly for grown-ups only.

12Dec/11

Abstract Lego Sculpture

The idea for an Abstract Lego Sculpture Workshop in response to artist Rashid Rana’s first UK public solo exhibition at Cornerhouse came to me when I first saw his new body of photo-sculpture works; ordinary, even average domestic objects that had been regressed to the razor edge of visual legibility. The use of block pixels reminded me of Lego, and so the idea was born. We would invite participants to deconstruct and rebuild their own everyday items and in doing so tackle two otherwise brain-hurty artistic concepts for themselves: minimalism, and abstraction. Can we do it? Yes we can!

Plastic Flowers In A Traditional Vase (2007 / detail) Rashid Rana. Image courtesy the artist, Gallery Chemould and Chatterjee & Lal, Mumbai

Rashid’s photo sculptures are responding to Minimalist ideals and intentions – reducing, simmering down to a base flavor like a soup stock, an essence, but also mocking this technique by taking a series of flat 2D photographs of the objects themselves and re-creating them as three-dimensional forms. To use food as a metaphor, this is like taking the contents of a tube of tomato puree, the distilled, ultra-flavoured essence of a specific taste, and moulding it back into the shape of a tomato… even re-attaching it to the vine. It’s absurd, but there is skill and a deliberate intention behind the act.

With the expert tutelage of the UK’s only Lego-certified freelance model builder, Ducan Titmarsh of Bright Bricks, we emulated this same process ourselves in our workshop by taking two objects, a Coke can and a stack of Wii cartridge games, and subjecting them to the same treatment. They will no longer look exactly like the originals, but still be recognizable as such. Think Picasso’s jumbled face-portraits, unblinking cyclopic eyes balanced upon triangular noses, or musical compositions that sound like a piano being dropped from a building. And then run over with a steamroller.

This is the bit where, in a traditional magazine layout, there would be a spiky bright yellow explosion accompanied by the subheading Did You Know…? Minimalism describes the practice and movement across multiple disciplines, but especially visual art and music, where the maker sets out to expose the essence or identity of a subject by stripping it back until only the bare bones remain. Abstraction indicates a departure from reality in the depiction of imagery; a courageous and still controversial approach when much of Western art right up until the mid 19th Century had been preoccupied by the illusion of reality and the orthodox logic of perspective.

Books 2 (2010-11 / detail) Rashid Rana. Image courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery, London

A coke can is one of the most recognizable items on the planet. It crosses cultures and continents and despite limited editions or redesigns or a change to the font and calligraphic text, it remains red and white and cylindrical. Cast your mind back to school art classes – were you ever asked to draw a crushed coke can? Without realising it, this might well have been your first exposure to the concept of abstraction – of moving away from a literal, clear representation of an object that still retains those core elements despite being jumbled and obscured. The curl of the letter C, the pillar box tint, a peeled ring pull. You don’t need to see all of it to recognise it for what it is.

Similarly, cast your thoughts back to early computer games, or what we know now to be early if you never actually played them. 8-bit, pixelated characters, Spectrum, Atari, Commodore. A limited number of pixels and no such thing as a graphics engine meant that characters and backgrounds were formed of little coloured blocks. Fast forward to the present and the likes of Mario and Sonic still survive in successful franchises, so the option of creating a stack of Wii games is a nod to their earlier incarnations. A thumbprint of red and white squares to represent a mushroom. Rectangles and triangles represent landscapes, bouncing brick-shaped bombs. We used our imagination in that situation, we can do the same now.

We are making, we are unmaking. We are simplifying, we are complicating. Hence the title of the overall exhibition – Everything Is Happening At Once. Thank you to all our participants, all of who commented upon how much fun it was to combine theoretical concepts with a playful make-it-yourself opportunity. Demands were made for further, weekly Lego workshops to tackle art history (a lone voice requested Duplo – we’ll say no more).  For those who wish to continue this journey into modern art via the joyful medium of children’s toys, may I recommend John Cake and Darren Neave, an artist duo who recreate seminal YBA installations using – you guessed it – Lego!

Thanks to Explore More blog for the lovely personal write-up of their experience as a participant.

4Nov/11

1970s Standard fireworks

Anyone who knows me will have had to sit through at least one tale, if not half a dozen, of growing up in my family’s newsagent shop in the 1970s in Manchester. This was way before out-of-town retail parks or internet shopping, so it was the hub and nexus of all gift and splurge related activity; acutely seasonal in tone. For Easter we would be awash in hundreds of chocolate eggs, in Summer the freezer motor groaned and moo-ed to maintain the Walls’ novelty shaped ice lollies (feet, vampires, space rockets) and Cornettos, but it was Autumn I looked forward to the most.

Not only was this the run up to both my own birthday and Christmas, but the double-whammy of Halloween and Bonfire Night. For those outside the UK, Bonfire Night used to be as big a deal if not more so than the Pumpkin and doorstep scrounging fest. It’s when we celebrate the public trial and execution of Guy Fawkes, a 17th Century anti-government protestor who attempted to blow up The Houses of Parliament. Generations of us sat at school desks scribbling burning pyres topped by Big Ben with Crayola crayons, and still the poshos complain that we're revolting.

Despite the dubious nature of his unsuccessful intent, we have much to thank him for – for a long time this was the only day of the year when fireworks were permitted by way of restaging his heinous intent (hooray!), with large bonfires across the country topped with effigies of the post-expiration celebrity. These would be replaced with other figures of public derision, but most generally a Conservative PM, accompanied by screams of blood lust. Now that Diwali has become more prominent and New Year celebrations more apocalyptic, it's a year-round firework fury.

I always loved November 5th as the shop would be stuffed to the rafters with Standard fireworks, rockets, Catherine wheels and selection boxes of various prices. A few years ago I felt a strong and pressing need to re-connect with my past, and found a box of mint condition Standard fireworks on eBay. I can't tell you the price, it was insane, but I had to have them, it was like a finding part of a missing treasure map with the all-important X marks the spot. All the classics are within: Firefly, Snow Storm, Pin Wheel, Highball, Mount Vesuvius, Rainbow (cousin of the adored Traffic Light), Animated Fountain, Chrysanthemum Fountain and (gasp) Shooting Star. P-shoo! P-shoo! P-shoo!

When they arrived it was like opening a door into my chest – I could see straight through a tunnel between then and now. A five year-old Bren was waving back at me on the other side. From the packaging design to the screen printed inks, colours, matt finish and lingering smell of gunpowder (these have had their contents replaced with sand and made safe as dummies), I only have to gently handle this box once a year to travel back in time. Even the wick is imbued with magic and memory. Outside of this period they rest in a tin, deep in the cellar beneath the house so that they might shoot stars and washes of light into my dreams, above.

So let me share a selection of pictures with you, in the hope that one or two of you might have come into our shop in Rusholme, or lit similar in your own back garden at a safe distance, trousers tucked into wellies, hoods up, toggles pulled tight.

Happy Bonfire Night for tomorrow, everyone.