“What has interested me all along is not the pronouncement of meaning but pointing toward the way meaning is formed.
I think everything is available as subject matter and I really mean everything. I concern myself with time, space, and things that are going on in the world, and everything. Not with a sense of trying to restate or interpret or express something, but to take something out of the world just long enough and use just enough of that to throw something out, bring something back, that I can call an image.
The essential quality of existence concerns where one is at any instant in time: that locates everything else. Location, as a phenomenon of space and time, has been transposed by most art forms into manifestations of visual equivalence: that is, as an experience located at the ends of the eyeballs. I am interested in transposing location directly into “present” time by eliminating things, the appearance of things, and appearance itself. The documents carry out that role using language, photographs and systems in time and location.”
“Photograph: a picture painted by the sun without instruction in art.”
Ambrose Bierce
“The business of art is to reveal the relation between man and his environment.”
David Herbert Lawrence
Snippets of a conversation
Me: “Photograph something on the ground and it’s just a photograph. Photograph a few different things on the ground and it’s art.” Marc: “It’s only art if it’s in black and white.” Me: “This business of making art… it’s hard to take it seriously sometimes.”
For “minimalism” here I suppose you could substitute “simple” (or even “simple minded”, which possibly explains my enthusiasm for it…) but that would be a mistake as, though Marc and I have our differences here, on the virtues of “simplicity” (or “economy of means”) we find ourselves much more in agreement I believe. Be that as it may, last Friday we all had occasion to visit an “environmental” multi-(well, two; sound and sculpture)-media art installation in a water park near our home in Walthamstow, north-east London. On arrival we discovered one of the “media” (to whit, sound) wasn’t actually working but as someone was attempting to fix it we decided to wait nearby on a bench with the merciless sun beating down on us while the unfortunate technician sweated manfully (but ultimately unsuccessfully) at his task.
Up to this point I had noticed that, for a public area, the park was remarkably litter free (this is unusual, trust me. Londoners notice stuff like that…) Apart from the dog/horse/waterfowl shit, that is. However, I did notice that around the bench where we sat there was some discarded litter (though by no means a great amount) in spite of there being a large waste basket adjacent to us. Whether or not this was related to the aforementioned merciless sun I cannot say for sure, but I decided there and then, on the spot as it were, to document said articles of detritus with the tiny digicam I had brought along with me no doubt for just such a purpose (for a possible explanation of my motivation see “Snippets of a conversation” above). Naturally my innate aesthetic tastes prevented me previously from documenting the shit. But I digress… I actually found eight discrete pieces of litter. Though here I tell a lie; there was actually one other somewhat larger “blot on the landscape” but I knew that Marc would eventually have to rise from his prone position and accompany us back home (he was driving…) Besides I had no intention of taking the rather broad hint and photographing him. I believe it’s called “the withholding of gratification”…
The kind of experience offered by SATSYMPH rather than being a distraction actually has the effect of heightening awareness of one’s surrounding environment, especially one’s visual awareness, the one sense that the piece does not engage. Who knows… you may even be more likely to notice the tiny pieces of detritus that your fellow human beings no longer find any use for. And that thought is my gift to you. No need to thank me…
One last word… I doubt this will be the last you will see of these eight images. As is my wont I shall doubtless attempt to wring every last possible use from them (“economy of means”, remember?) as an ongoing project where I hope to bring to bear the cool/intense, playful/serious dichotomy that I like to bring to every project I undertake.
One further “last word”… the preceding text is intended to be only partially facetious. I shall leave it up to the reader to glean which parts are and which parts are, in fact, deadly serious…
“I usually begin with some sort of idea of what I want to do. Sometimes it is an image. I always want to see what it will make. Then I actually start working. During the process I don’t have any morality about changing my mind. In fact, I often find that having an idea in my head prevents me from doing something else. It can blind me. Working is therefore a way of getting rid of an idea.”
Jasper Johns
For the best part of a decade Jasper Johns explored the single motif of the “crosshatch”. The nature of the motif is, of course, barely relevant… it being simply the “armature” on which he hung all the ideas and issues he wished to work through. By far the greater majority of these pieces were constructed in a simple (structurally at least) mirrored diptych format. However, within this seemingly restricted format Johns managed to fashion a seemingly endless array of variations. For the images above I have taken the basic unit of my chosen motif (humble dog ends in a crosshatch pattern) and presented them in the same way… or at least as two examples of how, with even the most basic of means, variety is possible. Here I have simply used color/monochrome versions with some overall tonal variations added for good measure. Of course the game isn’t to actually produce the endless variations on this simple process but to actively select just two and present them here as sort of “base” images. From this the exploration of many other related issues become possible.
If a decade seems like an inordinate length of time to spend exploring one seemingly rather simple idea/motif then bear this in mind: as a painter, and one notorious for the slow pace at which his chosen processes (and temperament) forced him to work, Johns has had to produce by hand many large pieces. Add to this the fact that he is also among the most deliberate and cerebral of artists (there have been many pauses for contemplation) and it is easy to see how this is possible. Most of the painted pieces were produced using either oils or encaustic. Sometimes one half of a diptych would be executed in one medium, the other half in the other. Often the encaustic medium would be painstakingly applied slow stroke by slow stroke over collaged layers. So, just how many pieces? Well, you would have to peruse a complete Catalogue Raisonnée to ascertain that. Certainly more than you would ever see in one place together. Which brings me to my next point concerning the “handmade”…
For any artist, especially one with such longevity as Johns, it is vitally important to be aware of their full body of work in order to apply any judgement. Even major retrospectives will inevitably fall short here. As one of my very favourite artists I have seen much, if not most, of his oeuvre but very little of it “in the flesh” as it were. In this respect I have always been aware that looking at his work in print and “for real” in a gallery are two very different things. The truth is that for the most part I have not been looking at paintings at all. I have been looking at mechanical (and more recently digital, no doubt) reproductions; photographs that is. And more than that… as printed images I have, in effect, actually been looking at printed reproductions of photographs. No doubt my experience is not unusual. In fact it is by far the norm and is the case with the overwhelming majority of art as experienced by an overwhelming majority of people. So much for the “handmade”… for most viewers it is, in reality, little more than a notion.
However, contemplating the realities of the printed reproduction brings me to another point concerning Johns’ practice: that of printmaking (lithographic, screen etc. At one time or another he has explored pretty much the full gamut). This is where the artist has always been at his most freely experimental. No doubt this has been a function of the processes themselves which allow for much more rapid prototyping and production. And this has always been an integral part of Johns’ method; the place where many of his thoughts and ideas can be worked out before forging ahead. But not always… at times the prints represent not just an experimental or “sketch” stage but are complete pieces in themselves as refinements even of previous paint processes. Such pieces are among my very favourite of the artist’s entire output. In printmaking Johns would make much use of the concept of the variants and the potential for layering and blending separate elements on separate plates, variations in inking and application, substrates etc. It is this aspect of his work that attracts me too because of its close association with the digital methods I myself employ. It is a notion I have made use of before and intend to do so again here. Only I can prototype and produce at a rate that Johns himself could barely contemplate…
One could suppose that many (or at least some…) of the thoughts I have expressed above would be applicable to music too. I am no musician, however, so I shall leave that to those far better qualified than I to ponder (Marc Yeats?). In any case, I have selected for today a performance of my favourite of Bach’s 6 Cello Suites, No.2 in D minor, by Mstislav Rostropovich. And while you are listening and marvelling no doubt, as I do, at the sheer virtuosity, colour and tonal values coupled with the controlled but palpable emotion of the great man’s performance, you may like to contemplate this: the digital production (as opposed to recording and God knows there are many differing opinions on that subject!) of music has nowhere near kept pace with the advances in digital image processing and production; to the point where I could, if I so desired, more or less replicate, with much greater fine control, the look and feel of analog production – or “silver” (that for my friend Anna Lee Keefer!) if you prefer. Yes, I know replication isn’t exactly the point here and, yes, I know that those who still like to do it in the dark would no doubt like to disagree. They are just plain wrong. But I wonder if this will always be the case? Could electronically produced digital sound ever replicate the feel, nuance, colours and tones etc. of live performance? I don’t know… but history tells us this: if it can be done it will be done. And if it is there will be a predictable, if understandable, chorus of outrage. Initially. But musicians and composers will adapt just as they have always done. Maybe they will discover many new horizons too. Oh sure, there will no doubt be more than a few “hold-outs”. A few Cnuts (and no, that’s not a typo. See here). But he couldn’t stem the tide and neither will they be able to. The world will keep on turning in any case…
Johann Sebastian Bach, Cello Suite No.2 in D minor, Mstislav Rostropovich, cello
Since my last few posts I have added the “final cut” of my recent images to my website in a new section titled “Musicking”. Unlike on this blog no direct association to specific pieces of music is made, which was always my intention. To categorise these images I revisited, as I often do, the writings on Semiology of Roland Barthes (for a discussion see here) and thus, indirectly, came across the term “Musicking”, originally coined by the musicologist Christopher Small (see here). Small’s theories on music making struck a chord with me and the use of his term seemed entirely appropriate here to express some of the thoughts I have on music and the visual arts (or more properly the function of art in general and the process of “making” art).
The images above are intended for a new subsection which will be called “Handmade – Variations On a Theme”. The “Handmade” part of the title is a small nod to one of the inspirations for the images, “Dead Ends Died Out, Examined (1993)” by Damien Hirst. In Hirst’s piece all the butts used are from “pre-made” or manufactured (which, ironically, literally means “hand made”!) cigarettes whereas all of mine are hand rolled! There is a broader aspect too, however, which I also wished to explore: in the making of these images I used fully automatic camera settings (hence the variations in tone, white balance etc.) I was also shall we say a little cavalier in not being overly concerned about vibrating the tripod as I manually tripped the shutter; some of the images are, indeed, slightly blurred. Far from being concerned over these “mistakes” I actively embraced them and it is, I think, true to say that such “imperfections” add an air of the “hand made” to the finished grid of images, consistent perfection being something more readily associated with the machine made. The irony here being, that had I in fact taken care of the technical aspect “by hand”, manually as it were, the images would have all looked more or less the same (technically that is)! I shall be discussing further aspects of the “hand made” in some future posts with more “image variations” from this series.
The other part of the title is a hint as to the musical associations here: Variations on a theme being a much used musical notion or device. Largely through the influence of my friend, composer and painter Marc Yeats, I have given much thought as to how such concepts of “variations’, or the re-use, recycling, of individual themes and elements may be explored in visual art too both through choice of subject matter and treatment.
Accordingly I have chosen, as musical accompaniment, Bach’s Goldberg Variations, “Keyboard exercise, consisting of an ARIA with diverse variations for harpsichord with two manuals. Composed for connoisseurs, for the refreshment of their spirits, by Johann Sebastian Bach, composer for the royal court of Poland and the Electoral court of Saxony, Kapellmeister and Director of Choral Music in Leipzig. Nuremberg, Balthasar Schmid, publisher.” (sic!). The choice of performer is deliberate too as it relates very much in my mind to Barthesian concepts of musical “grain” (his “grain of the voice”) and also to Small’s notion of “musicking” (see links in text above). The Canadian pianist Glenn Gould was undoubtedly one of the 20th Century’s finest exponents of Bach’s keyboard works (and certainly my personal favourite) but both as a man and, in the opinion of many, musically he was not without his “flaws”. Eccentricity in personal habits and performance were indeed something of a “trademark” for him (read more here). The single aspect of his performing that drove some to distraction was his habit of “vocalising” as he played. If you listen carefully here you will actually hear him “singing along” as he plays. For some this, and it must be admitted myriad other tics and eccentricities, especially as regards the tempi he would take many pieces at, almost disqualified him from being taken seriously. To me it simply makes him all the more human and for me that is a priceless trait in any great performer…
Johann Sebastian Bach, Goldberg Variations, Glenn Gould
More Mahavishnu Orchestra today and more of what Marc Yeats has called their “frenzy” which I always find so deliriously exhilarating. The piece shown above is intended to replicate the whirling rush as one is drawn in tumbling as into a vortex. All driven by astonishing machine like drumming of Billy Cobham and punctuated by the staccato guitar licks of McLaughlin himself. For me this is no intellectual adventure. Sometimes there’s no need for an explanation. It’s purely and thrillingly visceral…
Asking a friend, even one as close as Marc Yeats, if you can “appropriate” a piece of their work and “re-imagine” it and their subsequently agreeing can leave one, suddenly, with a daunting prospect. All too quickly it dawns on one that such agreement implies a level of trust and brings with it certain responsibilities. In any collaboration I have undertaken I have always thought that, if the suggestion has originated from me, my role should be a supporting one in so far as the overriding obligation is to preserve the integrity of the original piece.
The piece I selected to work with was “Movement Towards No. 4″ from Marc’s “Stillness In Movement” collection of 1994. With its pre dominantly green base my blending of one of my own foliage images seemed an obvious choice. You can see the result above. I hope that it indeed achieves my aim that the image is still recognisably Marc’s piece but not so alike as to be a pointless exercise…
Of course, as well as being a highly accomplished painter (and now photographer too) Marc is also one of the very best and most highly acclaimed contemporary music composers around. Which brings me to my musical selection for today: The first John McLaughlin/Mahavishnu Orchestra piece I ever heard was, appropriately enough, “Meeting Of The Spirits”, the first track on their first album “The Inner Mounting Flame”. I was literally blown away. I had never heard anything remotely like it before. The raw power and sheer virtuosity represented a visceral thrill I have never got over…
My first exposure to Marc’s music, too, was a life changing experience albeit in a different way. In the years since my first “McLaughlin experience” I suppose my musical tastes have broadened considerably and so, in many ways, you could say I was ready for the subtle nuances of Marc’s mesmerising music, especially for his, shall we say, more “difficult” pieces. So the same kind of experience but also entirely different. Or maybe not entirely…
Recently, while serendipitously dipping into Marc’s oeuvre, I (re)discovered three “mashup” pieces of his: The Colour Songs Mashup series. On listening to these I realised there was a connection to the Mahavishnu Orchestra material that I fell in love with years ago. Most especially, to my ears at least, with “Colour Songs Mashup 3″ which you can hear below. Of course, as a non-musician, one is sometimes loathe to entirely trust the judgement of one’s own ears so I broached the subject with Marc himself before posting the piece. Here is what he had to say: “The energy of the mashups – the controlled frenzy does have a connection to the aforementioned music, I think. Very different language but the ebb and flow share a commonality . . but it’s the frenzy that I think brings them most closely together – frenzy or ecstatic?? I’ll leave that up to you.” This was quickly followed by another communication: “Yep – it’s the frenzy!! I get it!” So I guess that settles it!
Speaking of “mashups” (not a term I’m entirely comfortable with, but it will do. Or, in my case, “hashups”?) this reuse of elements from previous works to create an entirely different piece, both in spirit and technically, is a concept that Marc uses quite extensively. Especially, of course, in his more experimental pieces. It is a notion I have become somewhat enthralled with myself and has informed much of my own recent work. Interconnections, new associations, even flights of fancy. It’s a magical notion indeed…
“If way to the better there be, it exacts a full look at the worst.”
“There is a condition worse than blindness, and that is, seeing something that isn’t there.”
Thomas Hardy
The above image is a “prototype” for a proposed new project in collaboration with my wife, Desirée Talbot, an accomplished photographer in her own right. Actually, I have long wanted to do a collaboration with my own wife, and this is it! For this project I intend to take images of hers and for us together to re-edit, or “re-imagine” them to fit a proposed expression or mood that may be very different from the “look”, or intent, of the original.
The first image we have constructed here is a good example of what is intended: The original image is a good deal brighter in both form and mood than the reconstructed version. Nevertheless both versions reflect a shared fascination with pathways, something perhaps more noticeable in Desirée’s work than mine. And though the exact final form this project is to take is, as yet, not firmly settled, it is intended that it will address shared concerns as well as more personal ones. As I said, it is at a very early stage and much is left to be decided upon. But for now, a little more about this first image…
As essentially an urban person I have always been well aware of the potential darkness and misery peculiar to urban existence. Equally, however, I have always been disturbed by the overly rosy view of rural life inherent in much of the English Pastoral tradition. I refer here to the prevalence, deep in the English psyche, of some imagined “Golden Age” when it was forever summer (and the sun always shone) and happy farm labourers would go about their seemingly leisurely work day with a smile and bathed in a golden light. An idyll, in other words. Equally as fancifully depicted would be the golden light streaked sylvan wonderland of the English woodlands where in one’s imagination elves, fairies etc. frolicked in “gay” abandon. Arcadia, indeed. Things are never always as they may appear, however. And to be fair, as my great friend, composer, painter and photographer Marc Yeats, has pointed out in my discussions with him on just this subject, there is a darker side to the so called Pastoral Tradition too, as exemplified in much of the music and most pointedly in the writing of such as Hardy. To be blunt, for most of our history and for the majority of inhabitants, rural life has been one of often brutal misery. Or so is the view that I would most subscribe to. The truth may lie somewhere in between, for all I know; I have never experienced rural life as such anyway. Which brings me to my point: Why do extreme views persist and why have most people throughout history seemed to prefer a rural environment of the imagination to any reality. Mostly with hindsight, that is.
In any case, reality is not our concern here. That’s merely documentary. I am not a landscape (or “townscape”) photographer or have any wish to be. Which is why it is Desirée’s images we shall be using as “raw material” here. Not that she intends to document the countryside or even visit it much. Semi urban environments like our local Epping Forest, Hampstead, even the parks of London if appropriate (and there is no shortage there) will suffice to explore what we intend to; more mood, feeling, attitudes etc. After all the whole point of conjecture here is that nothing is ever as it appears.
So to the image itself… In the editing of the original image (brighter, as I have said) my concern was not so much to depict a natural environment but to use the one in the image as metaphor. On the face of it the viewer is following a path out of the darkened, light starved, woodland towards a well lit glade with more than a little promise of the magical perhaps. Out of the darkness into the light; or “salvation” if you like. So far, so trite it would seem. Even more than a little twee I may venture. But, as with most things, it depends on one’s viewpoint. Equally, one could be leaving the sun bathed sylvan glade and entering the dark wood (the unknown, call it what you will) just throwing a backward glance as the light of the glade recedes. Soon it may recede to a point where one wonders if it ever existed or was merely imagined. OK… a bit of a stretch, you may say. But this is about “reading” images; all images. Where some may see certainty, where some (maybe most) may happily take things at face value I have always had a tendency to see ambiguity. Maybe even invent it where none may logically exist. Call it a predisposition but nothing is ever as it appears and, as far as I have always been concerned, and this is the point, at the heart of all art is personal disposition. What we may (may…) see is one thing. How we depict it is another.
With the editing of this image I have deliberately muted the colour tones of the sunlit area down to a sort of greeny brown to approximate the painted woodscapes of, say, Gainsborough. It just seemed appropriate here.
In keeping with this theme I have chosen a piece by the English composer, Frederick Delius (has anybody ever noticed how so many English composers have suspiciously un-English names? LOL), “Walk To The Paradise Garden”. And very fitting it is too… The piece is actually taken from the composer’s opera, “A Village Romeo and Juliet” and the “Paradise Garden” in the title isn’t a “garden” at all. It is in fact a seedy, dilapidated pub/country dance hall. And the couple, the star crossed lovers of the opera title, are not walking towards “paradise” but a tragic end (they will later deliberately and jointly end their lives by drowning). The music however, sounds lush and romantic. Or does it? For me, I hear a dark undertone of sadness, even menace. But then again… I already know the story and how it must end. To what extent is this pre-knowledge colouring what I hear? Of course, now you know the story too! Or, as once again my friend Marc Yeats says, does it really matter? Maybe not, but also once again, nothing is ever as it appears…
Frederick Delius, Walk To The Paradise Garden, London Symphony Orchestra, Sir John Barbirolli
Some believe that the forest may have been the inspiration for Gothic cathedrals. Here they are alluding to the interior, imagining the columns as trees with their branches forming vaulted arches. A charming notion but likely not very accurate. For me, however, it is the exteriors of Gothic cathedrals that brings to mind the forest as I attempt to imply (albeit vaguely!) in the image shown above.
Thinking about the soaring extravagances of such buildings, however, immediately brought to mind the symphonies of Bruckner; “cathedrals of sound” as somebody once termed them. And so the piece I have chosen today is the 3rd Movement from Bruckners last and unfinished symphony, the Ninth. In many ways this can be taken as the “final statement” of this most deeply spiritual of composers. I have no way of knowing if, indeed, Bruckner heard the call of impending death but this movement, an adagio, most definitely has the feel of a “death tone poem”, as my friend Marc Yeats, with whom I share a deep love of Bruckner’s “sonic wonders”, put it to me. If this is so then it is ultimately not a gloomy or morbid intimation of the end but rather a life affirming one; transcendent and uplifting. Accordingly, therefore, I have made the image deliberately light and airy.
I should apologise in advance for the movement being split over two videos with, admittedly, a somewhat awkward transition. The performance here, however, is so good that there was really no alternative. Karajan and the VPO are at their dazzling best and, indeed, the conductor seemed visibly moved at the finish. A performance to treasure…
Anton Bruckner – Symphony No. 9, 3rd Mov. – Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Herbert Von Karajan (1978)
“Looking for light is a tyranny we can’t afford now.”
Anselm Kiefer
Two more pieces from my “Wald” series. As I observed in the previous post these obviously aren’t images of an actual forest but images about the forest. Images about the idea of forest; the Germanic “imagined forest” if you like. In the Teutonic imagination the forest is an ambivalent place. One of beauty and a dark romanticism, it’s true. But also a place where you can lose your way; or lose your mind. A place of sanctuary and protection but, too, a place of untold horrors, both real and imagined. Of course the imagined horrors are always the worst. Or nearly always… The dark, black forest (Schwartzwald) looms large in the Germanic imagination, as I have said before, but usually with romantic undertones. Then there is Buchenwald. A place of real horrors which can never be erased from the collective imagination of all humanity…
These images are not of the forest, as I say, but are made of overlaid elements to hopefully convey the experience of a dark and impenetrable place. As I have said also, some of the visual and conceptual inspiration for these pieces has been sourced from the work of Anselm Kiefer, amongst others. It kind of amuses me that the elements that go to make up the first of the images shown above are actually the stems of dead sunflowers. Particularly apropos here as sunflowers, especially dead ones, have been much used as a motif throughout Kiefer’s oeuvre…
Much of the non-visual inspiration for this series has come from music too. A particular piece that, for me, seems to best express my own thoughts here is one by my great friend Marc Yeats, “Shadow, and the moon”. I am not the only one to think so obviously as I note someone leaving a comment on Marc’s SoundCloud page has observed that the piece is like “wandering through an enchanted forest”. Enchanted, yes. But enchantment has, too, its dark side. Fittingly the piece has an underlying, albeit dark, lyricism but overlaid with darker, sometimes shrill, intimations of unknown fears and horrors. It is also appropriate, considering how the images were constructed, that, in Marc’s own description, the piece is a sort of “mash-up” of other earlier pieces of his.
Well, just listen to it and you will know what I mean…
I have recently started a new section to my larger project, Mythologies, which I have called “Wald” (wood, forest). My use of the German word here is for two reasons: In German there are two words commonly used in place of the one English words “wood” and “forest”; “forst” which, obviously from the same root as the English, means a managed wooded area whereas “wald” represents the wild and untamed forest of countless myths (the English equivalent would not be “wood” but the now disused Old English word “wold”). My other reason is because, perhaps more than for any other nation, the concept of “wald” looms large in the Teutonic imagination. Indeed former Federal Chancellor, Helmut Kohl once said “Mythology, Germans and the forest – they all belong together.”
Constantly in my research I came across the term the “imagined forest” in relation to German attitudes to the forest “motif” and that, more than anything, is how I see this particular part of the project developing. I’m no nature boy. Communing with nature is fairly alien to my solidly urban sensibility and so it is the “idea” of the forest or “wald” that I shall seek to explore…
My initial visual inspiration for this series has been drawn from the work of two German artists, Gerhard Richter and Anselm Kiefer (interestingly “Kiefer” means “pine tree” in German), both of whom I admire and revere. There will no doubt be others. However, in many ways I have found myself more directly inspired by music and literature. Strangely, too, the most inspirational music for me has been that of the Finnish composer Sibelius and not more obvious Germanic composers. Maybe not so surprising: the Vikings, who basically feared nothing, made an exception of the Finns in their dark forests and would observe, “Finns have the power of darkness, Finns are wizards”. For me, the piece of music that most resonates in this respect is arguably Sibelius’s masterpiece, the Fourth Symphony, which you will find below (all four movements) for your listening delectation. The performance is a particularly good one, directed by a conductor who, as a Finn himself has a deep connection to the music.
I dedicate this piece to my Finnish friend and wonderful artist, Mia Leijonstedt. I hope listening to this piece may transport her to her beautiful homeland. Dedicated also to one of my very closest friends, contemporary music composer extraordinaire, painter and all round genius, Marc Yeats, who always does his best to fill in the alarming gaps in my musical knowledge. Enjoy…
Jean Sibelius, Symphony No. 4 in A minor Op.63, Swedisch Radio Symphony Orchestra, Esa-Pekka Salonen Recorded in 2000
My name is Ian Talbot and I am an artist and photographer living in London.
This blog is intended as an insight into the research, thinking and connections that precede the projects I undertake. I will also show new and experimental work. Naturally, not all of the work shown here will eventually make the cut. These are very much 'works in progress'...
You can see a complete collection of my work at my website:
