Enjoy-ed
Caught up with the Peter Hall Company for a matinee performance of ‘Enjoy’. I thought it was inspired to call a play ‘Enjoy’. Lots of jokes about that in the pizza restauraunt after the show when a pre-theatre party arrived and attempted to wolf down pasta and make the final bell before evening curtain-up.
I’ve mixed feelings about Alan Bennet these days, ever since I read the ‘History Boys’ I have an over-riding sense of an old man in a grubby mac. I know he writes fantastic dialogue and people say what a very nice man he is - not that I ever expect to meet him but ‘Enjoy’ was such an odd amalgamation of alienating concept and beautifully observed characters I couldn’t help but wonder if it was really written for television. Did I enjoy ‘Enjoy’? (sorry but I had to ask). In parts the story of the Craven family was moving, funny and entertaining but the museum idea, the distanced observation, the men (and woman) in grey suits didn’t work on stage - all totally superfluous to the central story of the Cravens, their lives and loves and death (well almost). Perhaps, like Margaret Thatchers idea of a ‘Poll tax’, in theory and way-back-when in the eighties it was written, it might have seemed clever and modern and workable. Sadly in the dim reality of the royal circle in the Theatre Royal Bath it didn’t. Well not for me at least, although other people were laughing, I suspect because they desperately wanted to - it has been such a grey, grey summer. I’m sure that actors love Alan Bennet for his detailed, beautiful dialogue, for his wonderful characters (especially the women) but I sat there and craved for the Cravens to be left unadulterated, untouched by the flim-flam of witty, clever invaders. I suppose when you’ve a large company of actors it’s no use using just five of them when you can bung a whole load on in the second act and wake up the old gents asleep in the circle. Oh well, I suppose it’s no suprise I ended up depressed by ‘Enjoy’ and back in Bath three days later at the Old Mortuary Chapel in Walcot Street to view an exhibition by sculptor and painter Gordon Dickinson and precocious young student Adam Crossland.
Gordon was once a coach-builder for British Rail but now creates giant steel horses for Primary Schools (and Swindon if they’ll only get their heads round it) and elegant eagles on silver birch poles poised to take flight but he also paints abstract pictures in rich yellows, oranges and browns. I was drawn (as I suspect many others have been) to his painting of a small teddy bear he found half-drowned in the middle of a road which he rescued and gave a home to - he has painted this bear stretched out on a vivid yellow background and entitled it ‘just holding on’. I also liked his black textured paintings of flowers, bold and exquisite from a distance, exploding off the canvas as you get up close. The venue was a wonderful bright and characterful place to be (reminded me a bit of Mrs Craven in Enjoy) and I desperately wished I could take the Teddy Bear painting home, although Gordon has since facebooked me a picture of one of his ‘Marcel Marceau’ paintings brilliantly capturing the expression of a man who spoke without words as he plucks with his thumb and forefinger a stream of colour, ‘magic’ from the air. The painting is entitled ‘when you find it, hold on to it’. Now I want one of those as well!
Adam’s work, in case you’re wondering was ‘precocious’ (especially in price), confident - painted on wood, cardboard probably done in no time at all and very …. well, it seemed angry to me but equally the sort of ‘illustration style’ stuff you’d see in magazines for the ‘teenage-to-twenty-somethings’ market and it worked well against Gordon’s sculptures and paintings.
As the rain poured down on Bath, I stood and looked out the chapel window to see a grey mist rise, whilst Gordon stirred my imagination with tales of his plans for an exhibition of souls based on his experiences of buying souls on ebay and the stories that have sprung from these mostly tongue-in-cheek transactions. Although I googled “souls for sale” when I got home and realise that there has been hot and heavy debate on this activity and ebay now no longer permits the selling of ones soul(before you rush off to the computer thinking that may just be what you need to raise this months mortgage payment). So, somewhat ironically, my spirits were raised in the old mortuary chapel by the thought of ’souls’ sold for a penny, the debate on the cheapness of life, the morality of it, the creativity and the care with which Gordon (owner of 50 souls) treats it and how he intends to return them intact via the angels of art (and his beautifully animated eagle sculptures). I wandered off, back down historic Walcot Street with my imagination fired, my creativity stoked, my soul touched (but still my own) - don’t be suprised if I become a partner in this venture and start promoting the exhibition any time soon.