The rising tide of art and ecology

Artist Bram Arnold writes for on the growing links between art and ecology

Something has been stirring in the wilderness for some time now, lurking on the peripheries of our collective vision. It has been growing and evolving in strength and form. Occasionally it leaps to the fore; Simon Starling wins the Turner Prize or a wooden elephant strolls through the streets of London. And these apparently disparate events can be drawn together under the banner of Arts and Ecology.

The scientific revolution was a great pinnacle of man’s achievements but its ultimate outcome is, for society, the segregation of thought and feeling. A schism between scientific rigour and artistic tenderness. There is now a growing concern in certain artistic circles to reconnect, to heal the divide that separates science from philosophy and art, and - through diverse media - to reinterpret our existence on this planet and invigorate it once more.

In this time of critical and irreversible change science seems to be inclining its head welcomingly towards the arts, if with a slightly bemused look on its face. In the wake of the year that finally put climate change on everyone’s lips, seems pertinent to throw Art & Ecology together in the mainstream.

The RSA recently held a conference on Arts & Ecology entitled ‘No way back’ and similarly themed conferences have cropped up in Canada, China and Dartington in Devon where the annual Desire Lines symposium is in its second year.

The roots of the Art & Ecology concept can be traced to a couple of art movements from the 60’s and 70’s - Conceptual Art and Land Art, along with a nod and a wink to the Fluxus and Situationist International groups.

The ‘Ecology’ spoken of is an extension of its conventional definition to deal with the various human dilemmas facing modern civilisation. From the actions of multinational corporations to the decline of traditional practices and from global warming to inter-cultural relations, these situations have changed the nature of the artist’s role, from the lone ranger of old, busying himself in a disused warehouse studio, to an interactive media savvy collaborative figure who roams between situations and organisations facilitating occurrences that would otherwise never have been considered as possible.

This presents society with the ready made weapon of ‘that’s not art’, the process of art’s evolution having sped up along with the rest of society we have very rapidly leapt from pictures on walls to prize winning artists who very rarely produce anything that could be called an object let alone an art work in the Constable, Turner, Holbein sense of the word. The artist has instead become the facilitator of projects. Gone are the days of presenting the world with future or past utopias, today it models, in real time, ways of being in the present world.

The artist is becoming an important figure for his ability to perceive paths where before there were only the segregating walls of a society bogged down by its own specialisms. Such perception is an important skill for the conditions in which we now live where collaborative interdisciplinary work may well hold answers unattainable to segregated disciplines.

One of the artists to speak at the ‘No way back’ conference in London was Brazilian born artist Maria Thereza Alves who is currently based in Germany.

At present she is working on a project called ‘Wake’, a project that began in Germany and is spreading now throughout Britain but one that has links to the majority of the globe and more than a fair chunk of human history.

In collaboration with German botanists Alves extracted all the seeds from a square metre of soil in the grounds of a plot in central Berlin that was currently being redeveloped. The seeds were then exposed to the necessary conditions for germination to take place and the results led to the exploration of the various histories of the location, its cultures and place in society.

Seeds have the capacity to lay dormant for hundreds of years and plants native to places as disparate as Argentina and China sprang up out of this ground below central Berlin. The continuation of this project in Britain takes the form of an exploration of old ballast dumping sites around the ports of the UK. Trade ships transporting goods would collect ballast from their destinations abroad only to dump it in Britain for it to be used in land reclamation, bringing with it all manner of plants that have lain dormant for hundreds of years. This simple gesture leads to an opening up of forgotten histories and a very different approach to the idea of native ecologies, as well as requiring the advice and assistance of various branches of society thereby encapsulating one of the many approaches within arts and ecology.

Simon Starling was a little known artist in this country before winning the 2005 Turner Prize and has a different approach. Throughout his work he has been interested in looking again at hither-too unconnected objects and the possibilities that conjoining these may bring.

Combining a bicycle and a chainsaw in 2003’s ‘Carbon’ created a moped. When parked you can remove its engine – the chainsaw – to cut timber. Then, strapped to the moped, the wood can be can be taken home to be used as fuel. It’s an example of how Starling looks at the multiple possibilities of individual objects.

Finding a disused shed on the banks of the Rhine he reassembled it into a boat and used the boat to float him and the rest of the shed down river to a gallery in Basle, Switzerland where the shed was reassembled in the gallery.

Both of these artists can be linked by a fascination with the reinterpretation of place and situation utilising perspectives that are not viewed through the eyes of conventional society.

So what of the wooden elephant that walked around London last May?

A performance by French street-theatre company Royal de Luxe, it brought a feeling of community and sense of wonder.

The performance broke down the barriers inherent in the ecology of communities like nothing else could, one did not require a ticket, an invitation, or a wealth of ‘high art’ understanding. One simply had to be there.

Art & Ecology is currently still a mystery wrapped in an enigma, requiring as it does the reconstruction of many of society’s current conventions, but the subject can only flourish from here. The litany of artists with an interest in science and scientists with an interest in arts is growing exponentially and this is reflected in the number of courses cropping up across the UK from Carlisle to Dartington and Manchester, and across the world. With its roots firmly embedded in long accepted artistic movements and its branches reaching out to many of societies’ common problems, at both a macro and micro level, it can but only become an important pedestal. Whether we all sit on it one day is up to us.

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State