My comments in the last couple of posts, about the character of art as manual labour, have set me off on a wave of reminiscence. The grammar school I went to was, in many respects, a model of institutions of that kind. (Suffice it to say that we studied latin.) Despite the elitist associations of this kind of school, however, I am convinced that it is also responsible for the legacy of my respect for manual labour.
In the upper forms of the school we were all required to elect to study either woodwork or metalwork. I suppose that the fact that “arts” students did woodwork and the “science” students did metalwork was dictated purely by the timetable. For whatever reason, however, I was signed up for two years of woodwork. The legacy of this experience is still with me in two respects. I still have, sitting the landing upstairs, a set of sapele bookshelves which I made then. They are (‘though I say it myself) a fine illustration of different types of dove-tail joint. Possibly of greater significance is the fact that I emerged from the experience with a healthy respect for all those who work with their hands.
By a fine and poetic coincidence, the other positive legacy which I value from my school is the ability to read a map. It would be the case, wouldn’t it, that my collection of Ordinance Survey maps is housed on the cherished bookshelves. It has never occurred to me before, but I wonder whether the fact that an awareness of symbols is a vital feature of my art is connected in some way to my fondness for maps. I do remember that, as a child, I would often draw fantasy maps …. for some reason always of islands.
As Leonard Cohen used to sing, “Sometimes I find myself thinking of the past.”