Unbelievable?

It's a tough life, visiting exotic locales, taking in the sun on a foreign shore, tasting the local brews and wandering the winding streets of a mediaeval city- but someone's got to do it. Venice can be a frantic buzz, bursting full of other people just like me who have the cheek to be there at the same time, and looking at the same things ... but there are quieter places where hardly anyone gets mugged, you rarely tread in something awful, and a sense of history echoes back to the sound of your own footsteps.

Sunday was my chance to see Damien Hurst's latest offering: his new exhibition staged for the Venice Biennialle, 'Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable'. 

The Guardian loves it... 

(https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2017/apr/06/damien-hirst-treasures-from-the-wreck-of-the-unbelievable-review-titanic-return...)

... the Telegraph sort-of-hates it, (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/damien-hirst-treasures-wreck-unbelievable-review-spectacular/)

….  but if you're not popping over to Venice in the next 6 months, then here's wot Our Damien has been up to, using his millions to create some Big Art about Truth, Lies. Faith, Belief, and Remembering. As you enter, 'authentic' film footage recounts the story of a fabulous treasure ship from the second century, newly discovered on the bed of the Indian Ocean. The museum entrance sports the following quote over the entrance:

With that we're off, wandering around displays of 'discovered' objects from the sea-bed that owe more to the stop-motion cinematic genius of Ray Harryhausen ('Clash of the Titans', 'Jason and the Argonauts'...) than real history- but never mind. There are monsters,  heroes, heroines, gods and demi-gods. Amidst the swords and sorcery, there’s occasionally a hint of real human feeling lurking inside all the cleverness- but let's start with the awesome stuff. Imagine an 18 metre-tall cast-metal giant demon, headless, bursting with muscular malevolence. It's a colossus, a gob-smackingly big piece of engineering that makes you wonder how they even got it into the building (through the roof, apparently).

There's a horse-rider under attack from an enormous sea-serpent, and evidently not enjoying the experience.

Here's a magnificently resplendent mermaid, blasting up from the waves accompanied by sundry crustaceans, molluscs and other assorted denizens of the deep.

Clash of the Titans-territory again. Andromeda, menaced by the approaching Kraken without a rescuer in sight.

A Warrior-woman rides into battle astride a rearing Grizzly.

The Hindu goddess Kali meets the Hydra of Greek myth in a celebrity death-match- underwater.

A massive Sun-disc from the time of the Incas- and Indiana Jones.

But Our Damien is throwing in clues all the time. Can you spot one here?

Third one down. I probably bought my grandson one when he was six. Now check out these helmets.

Nobody ever made winged helmets like that. (They get knocked off too easily in battle, unless you're an extra in Lord of the Rings.) As for the goddess Kali's swords- they're mediaeval two-handed broadswords from North-Western Europe, not the usual tableware for a Hindu deity. 

This 'Proteus' is actually based on John Merrick, the original Elephant Man of the Victorian era (a gentle human being).

And this? The original lab-rat from a rather dubious experiment appeared on Have I Got News For You as the end-of-show caption competition. (Paul Merton: 'Pardon?')

This is Quexacoatl, the Mexican snake god. Or is it Optimus Prime?

So by the time you get to this one, you know that Damian Hurst is truly taking the Michael.

Sometimes, it's banal. A jade Buddha, a mocked up sculpture of Durer's Praying Hands, the phallic Chinese Drummers, a busted Bacchus. Is Hurst saying that the Disney organisation repackage ancient myths for modern consumption?  (So what's new?) That's him with Mickey, by the way, best buddies by the look of it.

One particular piece is horribly real- of a life-size Minotaur raping an Athenian girl. No, I'm not showing the picture. The outrage on the girl's face, the pain and disgust... is that art, or pornography of the worst kind? Is it an attempt to portray sexual assault for what it really is...  or just bad art? I can't decide. Looking back over the whole show, you can see Hurst is trying to provoke reactions. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. There's Pride... Horror ... Sorrow... Awe... Mystery... Pathos.. But curiously, we see nothing about Love.

The gallery's first opening to the general public (on two sites) came on Palm Sunday. Around Venice that morning, worshippers had processed through the city waving palm branches, celebrating a divinity and humanity that was more down-to-earth than the flash-bang mythology of the exhibition. Palm Sunday remembers a wild parade through an excited crowd wanting a Messiah. They sing their Hosannas. A Temple market is trashed. Protests are made, and broken bodies mended. Children sing in delight. In that story there are no monsters, the only swords are wielded by ignorant disciples, soldiers and Temple guards. The lurking horrors don't have teeth or scales- just clubs and whips. Does this story contain any more truth than the tales told by Damien, Donald or Mickey? Historically yes- but curiously, there seems to be more human compassion in it, too. 

Believable? Unbelievable? This Easter, as we see what's happening in the world, what do you and I want to believe in- and Why?

Kingfisher

                                        

A few weeks ago, I was walking into Morpeth, crossing the river at the metal footbridge by the Chantry, when half-way across, I saw a woman I didn’t know, staring down at something.

‘Don’t do it!’ I said, jokingly. Well, I do talk to strangers sometimes, even if it does embarrass my children.

The woman turned, smiled, then pointed back down at the river. ‘See? It’s a kingfisher.’ And it was. There, perched on a branch, really still, down near the water, sat this tiny bird, an iridescent gleam of metallic blue, peering intently down at the water. We both looked, silently, at the creature for a minute or two. Then the woman, said, ‘I’ve got to go.’ So she left me to it, me and the kingfisher. 

Then I heard footsteps. Someone else coming across, an older man. I turned, furtively whispered, ‘A kingfisher!’ He stopped too. Both of us, gazing, entranced. Then, after another minute, the bird suddenly darted away.

‘I’ve never seen one of those before,’ I said. ‘

Amazing,’ he said. And with that, we parted. Three strangers brought together by a common delight- in a beautiful little river bird.

It left me wondering. Why is it easier talking to be about kingfishers with a complete stranger, than to be talking about our deepest beliefs… about Life, the Universe, and Everything? Or about God?

I suppose talking like that could be challenging. It could sound like I’m right, you’re wrong. Why don’t you come to our group / our club / our church? That won’t go far, not in Modern Britain. We're suspicious of getting dragged into anything. Leave me alone, you self-righteous weirdo.

But just suppose, sharing our passions, our beliefs, our faith, was actually about sharing our treasures, our pleasures, those times when we’ve had those kingfisher moments that made our heart sing and the world suddenly came fresh and alive again?

If you’re a person of faith, does it give you kingfisher moments? It could be that moment in communion when you receive the bread and the wine, or share the Peace. Or for others, it could be that sunset you saw last week. Or the Northern Lights. Or that time in your life when you were just sitting, 'being there', and you suddenly felt yourself filled with the warm presence of Something good? It’s going to be different things for different people, of all faiths and beliefs.

So... here's an Easter challenge. Can you name two or three really good things in your life? Because being able to voice and talk about your delights with some feeling might just be the most powerful thing you can ever do for someone else. There’s a hoary old Sunday school song that goes ‘Count your blessings name them one by one…’ Well… can you? What are the things that make you glad? Because if you can name your treasures and moments of delight, and talk about them- then you might just have hit on the most amazing thing you can share with a neighbour, a friend or a relative, like I did, with the kingfisher. And once we start sharing from our heart, you never know where it might go next.

I Believe... (Tales from the Creed No.1)

Algernon Bagshot had always been a difficult child. From the first time he drew breath, his eyes seemed to be perpetually questing for reasons why things were the way they were. Why had his bottom just been spanked? Who were these upside-down people dressed in white? And who was that person holding him crying, when she had obviously wanted him to be out here instead of in there, where everything had been warm and snug, if a little cramped?

No matter. But as he grew up, Algernon clearly wanted reasons for everything, and so he began collecting answers. Where does the water go? Down a pipe to the sea. Why must I go to bed now when I’m not tired or sleepy? Because you need it. What’s that thing they’re doing on TV? Not for your eyes. Go to bed.

So as he shuffled off to bed, the questions and answers stacked up in his mind, ready to be processed as he fell asleep studying the patterns on the bedroom curtains.

Grown-ups know stuff.

They’ve lived longer, so they know more than I do.

When I’m bigger I’ll know stuff too.