The Wayfaring Path

Art and travel

Part of the reason we are on this trip is to test ideas for what we do next in our lives. We’re trying out all sorts of things, from living with British Bulldogs, to cleaning up ancient skulls, all while living in a range of new places. The idea is that we’ll end up with better ideas of what we do (or don’t) want in the upcoming years.

We both love making things, arts, crafts, from longbows to tapestries. The UK provides a fantastic range of opportunities. Linda’s been chasing down elaborate glasswork, I’ve been bothering armour makers, from horse armourers to Star Wars-focused fabricators. Almost every time this kind of thing just FLOORS me. Plus, it’s so, so fun. Re-engaging with the visuals that left me awe-struck as a kid, is just as affecting as an adult.

The Royal Armoury in Leeds was phenomenal, from Samurai Armour to whole scenes of people taking on two charging knights on horseback, I was in a purpose-built building packed with inspiration and artistry.

Then there was a behind-the-scenes look at RS Propmasters, in Stockport, just south of Manchester, who manufacture a range of Star Wars costumes. I walked in, past a partly built R2-D2, to find a room full of helmets, full sets of armour, and thoughtful, entertaining craftspeople, making and hand-ageing the costumes I used to try and make from cardboard and tape. Such a trip. I loved telling them about my time filming for Lord of the Rings, in exchange for their tales of working with the V&A museum, and the makers of the new Star Wars movies. Yee ha.

Then just last week I was in the Tate Britain gallery, with an easel, sketching my favourite painting in the world, surrounded by other images which drew me into the art world in the first place. This journey has allowed the two of us to put ourselves before some of the most incredible art in the world, and of our young hopes and dreams.

Art as a way of describing myself

I was in a comic shop in a sketchy over-the-river neighbourhood in Sheffield, when I found a book, a compendium of Robin Hood comics I’d once read, I think it was in my Uncle Brian’s old shed/room behind my Nana’s home. There’s this image I’d forgotten, of this Van Dyke bearded Robin, a face from the past, an archetype for what handsome and heroic looked like. I’m realising that the art I absorbed has (often sub-consciously) informed my view of the world.

Sometimes we are reminded of who we are, or were, when we see old photos, hear old songs, or smell certain scents. There was a time that other people built an idea of us, browsing our albums, books and DVDs. Me? More than music, or cooking, I’ve learned lately that I’m a product of art, both the viewing-of and the making-of. One of my favourite childhood moments was selling a life-sized bounty hunter drawing to a hard-bastard at school, for a can of coke and a moro bar.

On the shitty end, when I was turned down for a role as a concept artist for a UK games company, I was properly spiralling, when a good friend reminded me that I always talked about writing, in the way that she thought artists would talk about painting. I always need to remember to return to sketches and paintings.

On this trip, I’m frequently reminded of who I’ve been, or tried to be, or wanted to be, through my art. I have often re-evaluated my value, based on how well (or how poorly) one of my art projects has gone. Understanding that will be useful for my future choices.

The other side is reminding myself how important it is to see art (and artists) I admire and enjoy. An early inspiration for both Linda and I, was the Pre-Raphaelites, a scandalous group of 19th century artists who dared to paint problematic subjects such as poverty, emigration, prostitution and the double standard of sexual morality in society. They also tended to paint realistic people rather than idealised ones. Imagine using Jock McCogg from down the chippie as the model for your painting of Christ and his Parents. Scandal doubled. So in getting to see their paintings, with these wonderful characters in the background, that meant rediscovering the art I always hoped I’d create.

Art as a story of place

When I move to a  new urban environment, whether it’s Porto, Paris or Pauatahanui, I usually wake up early, too excited to sleep beyond sunrise. I head out as the world wakes, on the prowl for coffee and pastry. That’s very  often when I find all the things I need to help me start understanding where I am. The stickers, the murals and street art, the poster designs. The streets, particularly the back alleys, is where a humanity-centred place gets to describe itself. Away from the conformity of the chain stores, the giant screens, the glass and chrome. It’s where the people talk about who they are, rather than the marketers trying to do it for them.

Recently, when we were bulldog-sitting in Sheffield, I spotted a cartoonish piece of art in a rundown Irish pub. I then saw the same piece, in a gallery hosting work by local artist Pete McKee. As I saw more of his work, I realised that he was doing a very effective job of telling a story of what Sheffield was to him, as he grew up, through his images. He included his family members, his favourite music, his mischiefs, disappointments and loves. I also realised I knew some of these places, and as I tracked down more of his work, it helped transform my perspectives on Sheffield. How cool! I immediately wanted to start drawing my own early years, as a way of capturing Wellington’s bogan paradises, and the kids who grew up with me, in those windy streets between suburbia and Coddle’s farm. 

Art as an anchor

A previous long trip taught me that doing something creative every day is an important part of what helps me feel alive and grounded (alongside being in new landscapes, and spending time with friends and family). If I’m ever feeling hollowed out and worthless (ouch), then I have that check-list, and if I haven’t made anything lately, it’s time to get cracking.

Being here, where so many things are so visually engaging for me, along with so many opportunities to learn new skills, has pushed me to try new things. I bought a TINY video camera (I was properly envious of Linda’s film making), I have started flint knapping (making arrowheads), I’m experimenting with music ideas. It’s fun playing with a new medium, but just as importantly, I want to find ways to capture these things I’m experiencing. Writing a blog post, taking better photos, sketching an ancient monument, these help really draw me into my environment. I’m pushed to look at where I am in new ways, from the sounds in the background, to the way light falls under trees. This trip is such a beautiful opportunity, I want to wear its effects for as long as possible.

With that in mind, there’s a link below to a short video I made last week. I was in the Tate chatting and sketching, when a young Swiss lad told me about the graffiti caves under Waterloo Station. I hunted it out, and although there weren’t many great murals, the vibe was a trip, with minimal lighting, footsteps echoing, occasionally someone looming up out of the dark, or charging through on a squeaky bike, barking. Spooky, sketchy thrills.

I’ve re-realised that art is a very important part of who I am. Just in time to head across to Europe to Sweden, a place neither of us have ever been. An opportunity to hunt out the art and stories from another set of mythologies from my childhood. Magic.