Episode 8 The Arts Show

Hello. Glad you could join us in the BBC Studios

here in Belfast for a very special Arts Show.

We have got visual art over here.

Very expensive bowls. Do not touch.

We have got Mr Gavin Ferris, minus his guitar,

but we also have Ross Thompson, poet extraordinaire,

and we have Hannah and Jan, who are friends and collaborators.

More on that in a moment.

But first up, they are a duo that have been together for only a year.

Their first album, Untamed And Beloved,

has been released to critical acclaim.

Please welcome The Darkling Air.

# It's all imagination

# When it's not before your eyes

# The fairest is the new kid

# Who observes before decides

# Still clinging to the values

# Of a vain and fruitless pride

# On the inside

# Watching as he loses his way

# He can't even hear as I call his name

# And turn your head around

# Don't you notice

# That you are of this?

# Of this you made yourself

# You're acting like the weather

# Like snow on top of spring

# You promised all your colours

# And then covered everything

# Will you recognise your children

# When you've had a heart to heart

# With yourself?

# Watch me if I'm losing my way

# Violently thunder my memory

# And turn my head around

# Make me notice

# That I am of this

# Of this I made myself

# And turn your head round

# Don't you notice

# That you are of this?

# Of this you made yourself. #

APPLAUSE

Thank you, guys. I love the sound.

More from The Darkling Air later.

Well, ceramics as an art form is as old as antiquity,

but, as the most recent winner of the Turner Prize proved,

it's more than just a load of old bowls.

Claire Newell, welcome. You are a ceramicist.

I use bowls, maybe not as dear as this,

for my cornflakes in the morning.

What makes this art?

Well, everything's handmade completely by me,

from start to finish,

using porcelain.

It's all hand-decorated and each dot's put on by me,

so it might be a little bit more precious to you

than just eating your cornflakes out of it.

Would you let anybody eat their cornflakes out of it?

Certainly, if they wanted to!

But I see them purely as decorative.

I'm afraid to touch them, because they're expensive, are they?

-They are.

-They are. OK.

So I'll keep my hands by my side and not do anything.

But with Emma Hart winning the Turner Prize

and also, a very big prize, as well, the Max Mara,

do you think that made ceramicists sit up and cheer

and say, "At last, you recognise we are a valid art form!"?

I think so. I think it seems a bit more legitimate

now that it is, sort of, it's even modern again.

And it's great to see - hopefully, it continues.

So, it's contemporary

and would there have been the feeling up to now

that maybe you were in the crafts world

and not in the visual arts world?

Is there that bit of snobbery going on?

Certainly, I think so. I think crafts sometimes is not seen

as something maybe as high-end.

But high-end? I mean, this is high-end.

How long would it take you, even, say, the smallest bowl? How long would it take to make?

The smallest bowl, from start to finish,

you're talking easily ten hours plus.

Each little dot is just simply on and off into the pot

and back on the bowl,

so there's no quicker way of doing it, unfortunately.

Why do you do it? What makes you do it?

I suppose I find it quite therapeutic.

I've developed a lot of patience in the last few years, as well,

of developing the range.

You're also a mum.

You have a toddler now, what, 18 months old?

Yes. Sophie. She's 18 months.

Well, to paraphrase the famous quote

about the pram in the hallway being the enemy of art,

where do you stand on that?

I think that's completely untrue.

It's just finding the balance

between your home life and your business life.

I can do both.

So you are a champion for both toddlers and ceramics?

-Certainly, yes.

-Thank you so much.

-Put your hands together, everybody, for Claire Newell.

-Thank you.

APPLAUSE

Now local author Jan Carson

and singer-songwriter Hannah McPhillimy

have been creating fresh takes on each other's work

for about four years now,

and they're still friends.

In a moment, we'll hear Hannah's take on Jan's work, but first,

please put your hands together for Jan Carson,

reading from her novel Malcolm Orange Disappears.

The children revelled in the open sky.

They flew like fighter pilots and dined like demigods

on tinned fruit and Hershey bars.

Recalling the claustrophobic fields and streets of Jefferson, Oklahoma,

they could only conclude that their parents were selfish creatures,

denying them the full breadth of their prodigal wings.

By the time they hit Europe,

all seven children had lost their instinct to return home.

The ships docked in Belfast on January 26th 1942,

and while the regular troops trooped through the city,

exploring the public houses and dance halls,

the children made darting exploratory flights

through the Glens of Antrim and the Newry Hills,

thrilled by the jungling foliage and the lush greens.

Accustomed to the flat Oklahoma plains,

everything seemed damp, pocket-sized and saturated in colour.

"Such a small island", the children mused.

No bigger than a single state,

yet this tiny teaspoonful of a tiny continent

served to whet their appetites for further adventures.

In the early days, Europe felt like a homecoming for the children.

The streets ran thick with mythical beings.

Monsters, angels, immortal creatures.

For one short instance,

the flying children felt almost acceptable.

Huddling for the night in barns and rural barracks,

they began to speak healing words over each other.

"Lucky" and "blessed" and "terribly, terribly fortunate",

the squat syllables rocking them into deep, satisfying sleep.

# Hey, kid

# I knew before most did

# How the Lord giveth

# Prefers taking outright

# So don't dress it up nice

# No, don't waste your good time

# Making things pretty,

# For a man without sight

# I've done all right

# Just hold me when the sinking comes

# I wasn't born like this

# Gargantuan, repulsive

# I had my waist pinched

# By many fingers and thumbs

# Just put on the weight of someone not made for love

# And other than the absence of all human touch

# Don't think I missed out on much

# And maybe they'll hold me when the sinking comes

# Ooh

# Ooh, oh

# Ooh, ah...

# Don't let your precious child

# Out in those blue skies wild

# They'll only take off, fly to never return

# So strip off their fledgling, strange and beautiful wings

# It's for their own safety

# And soon they have to learn

# They're not right for this world

# But we'll hold them when the sinking comes

# In times gone by we used to fly

# But it's such a heavy world

# In times gone by, we used to fly

# But it's such a heavy world

# In times gone by, we used to fly

# But it's such a heavy world

# In times gone by, we used to fly

# But it's such a heavy world

# In times gone by, we used to fly

# But it's such a heavy world

# In times gone by, we used to fly

# I'm just far too tired. #

APPLAUSE

Hannah McPhillimy with Sinking

and Jan Carson with Malcolm Orange Disappears.

So, who made the first move, then?

It was Jan. She was more keen.

-Really?

-Well, we've been friends for an awfully long time

and I've always been in awe of Hannah's talent, as you can hear,

and I was just dying for an opportunity to work with her,

and this came up.

So what is the physical process?

I mean, Hannah, do you read Jan's work

and then you hear something musically

and then you rewrite it?

-Yeah, well, Jan gave me... Was it the first draft of your novel?

-Yeah.

And then I just read it in its entirety,

and then Jan gave me the freedom to write about whatever I wanted,

so just whatever I was attracted to.

Then I scribbled away.

And then what do you hear in Hannah's work, Jan?

I hear a lot of my characters coming to life in a different way,

so it's almost like getting someone else's eye to see things

that you maybe missed the first time round,

which is a lovely process to go through.

I mean, there must be a huge amount of trust here.

Is it like a screenwriter adapting a book for a film?

Yeah. When she first asked me, I was terrified,

cos I thought she might hate it!

It's a big undertaking!

Yes, but...yeah, I think with any creative collaboration,

there is massive trust and I'd never actually done that before,

so it was lovely to do it with someone I really respected.

And you're heavily into music.

Do you understand, really, though,

the different approach that Hannah needs to take your words?

Well, I actually got a little insight into it,

cos Hannah did the same manoeuvre on me last year,

and gave me some of her music to write a story about,

so she flipped the thing over and made me do it.

So I realised at that point just how difficult it is

to be given someone else's work.

And you don't talk about it - I mean, do you just let it sit,

and then you send it to her,

and go, "Fingers crossed, it's going to work"?

We had a lot of frantic coffee, and just...meetings,

throwing ideas at each other, and things.

But art demands honesty,

so how do you retain the integrity of the work,

while staying mates?

I think it comes down to trust, to be honest.

And if you really value and understand

another artist's integrity,

actually, sometimes their opinion is better than yours.

-Really?

-Yeah.

-Do you believe that, Hannah?

-Erm...

-Say "Yes!"

-Yes!

LAUGHTER

-She does.

-That's the right answer!

Have you ever fallen out, though?

I don't think so. Jan has some grudges held against me,

cos she didn't realise when she was enlisting me

she'd have to carry my huge keyboard.

So she has a few scars on her shins!

I actually pulled a rib carrying Hannah's keyboard around Ireland.

Yeah, you don't do that with a pen and paper.

Ladies and gentlemen, please thank Hannah McPhillimy and Jan Carson,

and please, no falling out, we need more of you!

Thank you! APPLAUSE

Now, there's a healthy tradition of portrait painting in Ulster,

from Sir John Lavery's epics and studies

to Colin Davidson's list of heads of state and Hollywood icons.

We add a new name to this roster - Donegal painter Daniel Nelis.

Welcome. You won the Royal Ulster Academy Portrait Prize in 2015.

So what did that mean to you as an artist?

Well, I remember my first time

getting to see the Royal Ulster Academy was in 2009,

and that was the year that I was just committing to art, I guess,

because I was doing my foundation course

in North West Regional College in Limavady.

And so we were brought up, and that was my first time getting to see

people like Colin Davidson in person.

There was even a drawing of Michael Longley

by David Russell as well.

That had a super, kind of, profound impact on me.

They made me realise that, "Here's these guys that can actually

"have a credible career out of making art."

And then, a few years later,

whenever the e-mail came through

that I'd won the Portrait Prize,

it was a super confirming moment.

So talk to me about some of these...

Some of them are fairly big, others are very, very small.

So, what's the process?

Well, I think the thinking behind all of my work is...

It's kind of inspired

by these still, quiet, contemplative moments.

The place that conjures that kind of sensation the most for me

is just the area that I'm from.

-Which is Glenveagh, Donegal.

-Exactly.

We're just surrounded by miles and miles of bogland.

And it's not unlike, maybe,

the paintings of Caspar David Friedrich,

the German Romantic painter.

His paintings were about being alone in nature, or figures...

Very much being, in the bog by yourself, kind of,

conjures a similar feeling.

So you put your mum into the middle of a bog.

-And you paint your mum.

-Yep.

Imperfections and everything?

For me, it's just about, kind of, bearing witness to the person

in as honest a way as possible.

Obviously, what we're doing still is an artefact of the person,

it's not the person themselves.

-But...

-Does your mother like it?

As chance would have it, she did like the painting.

-So that was...

-OK, OK.

My father had been through a similar process,

so she had seen the damage done there.

You see, I have sat for a painter, Colin Davidson no less.

And I know I was very honoured to,

but I found it the most nerve-racking experience

-of being looked at.

-Absolutely. Because it's...

I mean, Lucien Freud even said of one of his teachers, Cedric Morris,

that his paintings were more intrusive

than they had any right to be.

And I think that's true, they are intrusive,

and they kind of make us bear witness to ourselves in a way,

especially now, we wouldn't feel comfortable with.

But I think that's super important, because it lets us see

the truth in ourselves.

So will your mother let you paint her again?

I doubt it very, very much.

Well, somebody else will want to be painted by you.

-Daniel Nelis, thank you so much. Thank you.

-Thank you.

APPLAUSE

Now, you could say that my next guest

paints sonic portraits with his six-string.

He is Gavin Ferris, one of an emerging group

of virtuoso guitarists in Northern Ireland at the moment.

Here he is with The Dragon Is Coming.

APPLAUSE

Those fingers were a blur, Gavin, thank you so much.

Now, Ross Thompson is an English teacher by day,

and when the school bell goes, he writes.

This year bodes well for him,

as he's been chosen as one of 12 to watch by Lagan Press.

Ross, over to you.

The Slipping Forecast.

Viking, North Utsire,

South Utsire, Irish Sea.

South-westerly veering north-westerly, four or five,

backing into East Yamatai.

Moderate or rough, becoming good.

Sweetwater, trimble fee, ley line.

Narnia, magnetic pull veering centrally at first,

heliosphere fragmenting later, rough or very rough,

chances of meteors high, obliteration unlikely.

Nettle song, Legoland, shimmer moon, silver pen,

fog patches, white squall,

vengeful ghost pirates hunting for plunder.

Severe gale, becoming cyclonic,

occasionally very violent in Groomsport.

Golden glove, solitude, honey trap, trill.

Infrequent sightings of three-way fisticuffs

between Godzilla, Mothra and King Kong.

Screaming Japanese civilians decreasing three,

at times hellfire and brimstone rising,

but tailing off by End of Days.

40s, middle-aged spread sinking southward,

afternoon naps increasing,

self-loathing eight, weepy clouds ten,

mood swings frequent,

anguish severe,

periods of low depression, ennui, rough,

crises inevitable,

staring at childhood drawings of snowmen, nine.

High chance of crying over spilt milk.

Tumbledown, fox willow, apple glass, adultcy,

cosy and carefree middle-age ebbing to all four corners.

Wistful, yet without regret.

Unhappy, but content.

Restful slumber, not giving two hoots.

Peace descending, zero to zero.

APPLAUSE

Thank you to Ross Thompson,

and thank you to all our guests and performers here this evening.

You can't get away from us, we are on radio and online all the time.

We'll leave you tonight with one more tune from The Darkling Air.

Goodnight.

# The darkling air descends its veil

# Upon the rugged hills

# I stayed too long and now I can't see anything

# Though the night is young, my glass is full

# It's another done deal

# With the tendency to sting you in the morning

# Barefoot though the wilderness

# It's what I'm comprehending

# Magnificent yet cold and cruel

# And unforgiving

# Deep it lies, the olden spring

# Broken by the years

# Now quilted by a heather bed is sleeping

# Nature stands to nurture life

# Then leaves it to decay

# I collect the bones she casts away

# Barefoot through the wilderness

# It's what I'm comprehending

# Magnificent yet cold and cruel and scorning

# I feel it all, I feel my way

# Until I finally find you

# I do it all in hope

# I do it all

# For love

# Ooh, ooh, ooh

# Mm

# The darkling air descends its veil

# Upon the rugged hills

# I stayed too long

# And now I can't see anything. #

APPLAUSE