There has been plenty of reason to grumble about the National Museum Wales of late, certainly if you are an archaeologist. One of the things that I have found most troubling about the closure of the archaeology gallery, is that a major part of the Welsh story will be lost to audiences in the city centre. A museum stacked with international art collections is not a National Museum, it is a National Gallery - an institution which serves a very different purpose. That being said, a National Gallery which explores Welsh themes would be no bad addition to the Welsh landscape, and is a concept which frequently generates excitement in Senedd debates (coming up once a year or so). When the contemporary art gallery opened in the National Museum Wales, it did so with a notion that this space would allow the museum to explore Welsh artists and Welsh works of art. In the early days, this was achieved quite effectively. However subsequent exhibitions have includes 'The Queen: Art and Image', 'Pop and Abstract' and of course the Artes Mundi prize displays - all of which were highly questionable in terms of their relevance to an exploration of Welsh themes, certainly Welsh artists were ephemeral contributors at best to such displays. Officially launching tomorrow though, is the 'Wales Visitation: Poetry, Romanticism and Myth in Art'. It is, I would argue, the first National Museum Wales exhibition to be inspired by the use of LSD, it taking its inspiration from Allen Ginsberg's 1967 wanderings through the Welsh landscape. I'm looking forward to getting down to the museum next week, but I've heard bits and pieces about the collection, which will include the likes of 'The Bard', and a Mari Lwyd. I'm hoping for something wonderfully bizarre, but first and foremost I'm hoping for something Welsh. Early indications suggest that this exhibition will do just that, and my hope is that this becomes the norm, rather than the special. You will find lots of voices who will, unofficially of course, state their concerns about the changes taking place in Cardiff - but unless there is change at directorate level, a 'museum of art' is exactly what Cardiff will become. If that is to be the case, it is of increased importance that such themes and concepts are explored in the National Galleries - Welsh archaeology is about to be jettisoned from the National story, were the same to be said of Welsh narratives generally, it would be a great shame indeed. Such ideas may seem OTT, but the National Museum I walk through today, seems to have less and less to do with Wales with each passing year. So, here's hoping for good and freaky, but above all, Welsh things with 'Wales Visitation', and an emphasis on such themes for the future. Wales Visitation: Allen Ginsberg
White fog lifting & falling on mountain-brow Trees moving in rivers of wind The clouds arise as on a wave, gigantic eddy lifting mist above teeming ferns exquisitely swayed along a green crag glimpsed thru mullioned glass in valley raine— Bardic, O Self, Visitacione, tell naught but what seen by one man in a vale in Albion, of the folk, whose physical sciences end in Ecology, the wisdom of earthly relations, of mouths & eyes interknit ten centuries visible orchards of mind language manifest human, of the satanic thistle that raises its horned symmetry flowering above sister grass-daisies’ pink tiny bloomlets angelic as lightbulbs— Remember 160 miles from London’s symmetrical thorned tower & network of TV pictures flashing bearded your Self the lambs on the tree-nooked hillside this day bleating heard in Blake’s old ear, & the silent thought of Wordsworth in eld Stillness clouds passing through skeleton arches of Tintern Abbey— Bard Nameless as the Vast, babble to Vastness! All the Valley quivered, one extended motion, wind undulating on mossy hills a giant wash that sank white fog delicately down red runnels on the mountainside whose leaf-branch tendrils moved asway in granitic undertow down— and lifted the floating Nebulous upward, and lifted the arms of the trees and lifted the grasses an instant in balance and lifted the lambs to hold still and lifted the green of the hill, in one solemn wave A solid mass of Heaven, mist-infused, ebbs thru the vale, a wavelet of Immensity, lapping gigantic through Llanthony Valley, the length of all England, valley upon valley under Heaven’s ocean tonned with cloud-hang, —Heaven balanced on a grassblade. Roar of the mountain wind slow, sigh of the body, One Being on the mountainside stirring gently Exquisite scales trembling everywhere in balance, one motion thru the cloudy sky-floor shifting on the million feet of daisies, one Majesty the motion that stirred wet grass quivering to the farthest tendril of white fog poured down through shivering flowers on the mountain’s head— No imperfection in the budded mountain, Valleys breathe, heaven and earth move together, daisies push inches of yellow air, vegetables tremble, grass shimmers green sheep speckle the mountainside, revolving their jaws with empty eyes, horses dance in the warm rain, tree-lined canals network live farmland, blueberries fringe stone walls on hawthorn’d hills, pheasants croak on meadows haired with fern— Out, out on the hillside, into the ocean sound, into delicate gusts of wet air, Fall on the ground, O great Wetness, O Mother, No harm on your body! Stare close, no imperfection in the grass, each flower Buddha-eye, repeating the story, myriad-formed— Kneel before the foxglove raising green buds, mauve bells dropped doubled down the stem trembling antennae, & look in the eyes of the branded lambs that stare breathing stockstill under dripping hawthorn— I lay down mixing my beard with the wet hair of the mountainside, smelling the brown vagina-moist ground, harmless, tasting the violet thistle-hair, sweetness— One being so balanced, so vast, that its softest breath moves every floweret in the stillness on the valley floor, trembles lamb-hair hung gossamer rain-beaded in the grass, lifts trees on their roots, birds in the great draught hiding their strength in the rain, bearing same weight, Groan thru breast and neck, a great Oh! to earth heart Calling our Presence together The great secret is no secret Senses fit the winds, Visible is visible, rain-mist curtains wave through the bearded vale, gray atoms wet the wind’s kabbala Crosslegged on a rock in dusk rain, rubber booted in soft grass, mind moveless, breath trembles in white daisies by the roadside, Heaven breath and my own symmetric Airs wavering thru antlered green fern drawn in my navel, same breath as breathes thru Capel-Y-Ffn, Sounds of Aleph and Aum through forests of gristle, my skull and Lord Hereford’s Knob equal, All Albion one. What did I notice? Particulars! The vision of the great One is myriad— smoke curls upward from ashtray, house fire burned low, The night, still wet & moody black heaven starless upward in motion with wet wind.
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I finally managed to get down to the Wallace: The Forgotten Evolutionist? exhibition in the National Museum Wales a couple of weeks ago, the temporary display having been in Cardiff since October (and due to close in the second week of March). Alfred Russel Wallace has always been a fascinating individual, certainly for his work on evolution theory, but also, from a personal perspective, for his treatment as a Welshman. On this topic, the exhibition in Cardiff is a brilliant exercise in claiming an individual for Wales, or at least selling a particularly Welsh narrative, on fairly flimsy foundations. The exhibition in general is an engaging but brief work, shuffled back to the very deepest part of the Natural History galleries. Built around four to five central themes, the exhibition explores the activities of Wallace in Wales in some detail, before focusing in on his time spent travelling overseas, finally looping around to the publication of his works, and the reception of his and Darwin’s theories (with very brief mention of spiritualism included). This is a text heavy display, and frustratingly repetitive on occasion. A wonderful gallery of cartoons interpreting the major stages of Wallace’s life split the exhibition, are certainly amusing (and arguably far more engaging than the reams of text), but rehash much of that which is covered elsewhere. What seems oddly lacking though are the physical testaments of Wallace’s work, the natural history collections. Where animals collected by Wallace are on display, they are on occasion respective of the way in which Wallace may have collected and stored his samples. A central display case makes no attempt at sentiment, with birds laid out flat with identification tags, as if part of a scientific collection, rather than staged in posed positions. Yet such displays are infrequent. Where the exhibition boasts of Wallace having collected some 125,000 species, and over 1000 species new to science, there is only a small handful of these examples for visitors to engage with. Whether this was for issues of sensitivity, or simple practicality is unclear, but it does seem a missed opportunity given the overall tone of the exhibition. In terms of the Welsh question, the first third of the gallery is important. There is no doubt that Wallace spent time in Wales, having been born and then spending the first few years of his life near Usk in south east Wales. However, the bulk of his youth was spent on the other side of the border (albeit close to Wales) and then later in London. It would not be until Wallace neared his twenties that he would return to Wales to work, and the period in which he was surveying sites in Wales amounted to little more than five years in total. The first third of the gallery however is devoted almost exclusively to these (so called) formative years. At various points, the exhibition alludes to the Welsh connection, with the opening text panel gambit citing ‘Welsh Beginnings’. Charting his movements around Wales, working in Neath and surveying the surrounding landscapes, this section of the exhibition ends by stating that: ‘There is no doubt that Wallace’s time working and living in Wales played a pivotal role in his development as a leading naturalist and social thinker.’ Before the exhibition ends, the museum proudly states that Wallace’s achievements were ‘not bad for a self-educated man from Usk in Wales’. While the museum does not make the final leap of claiming Wallace as a Welshman (which interesting the Independent did in 2013), it is not far off it. Now, the one thing I suppose I should make clear, is that this is not really supposed to be critical of the museum. We have a long standing tradition in Wales of making the most of any Welsh connection we can find when it comes to individuals of repute and events of significance. What this does serve to illustrate though, is the ease with which a museum can spin and weave an interpretive narrative to serve its own purposes. In embracing the work of Wallace in a Welsh context, Wales suddenly has a ‘pivotal role’ to play in the theory of evolution. This may not be entirely inaccurate, but equally it is not entirely accurate either. What it is, is a narrative choice, one designed to justify the Welsh connection, and, presumably, attract visitors on these grounds. Wallace becomes a Welshman in this exhibition, not through such a status being explicitly stated, but certainly through its implicit telling. That is not to say that Wallace can’t or should not be presented as a Welshman, simply to say that there are a very many other ways in which the story could have been spun. The Natural History Museum’s treatment of Wallace certainly does not dwell on the Welsh connection for very long, but then Welsh connections are no priority for a London museum. In this respect, the National Museum Wales does a very good job indeed of almost telling us that Wallace was a Welshman. While there is lots of justifiable doom and gloom surrounding the Newport Ship project at the moment, it's worth not losing sight of the fact that it remains an attraction, freely available to a visiting public. The next opportunity for members of the public to see the Ship in its Maesglas home, will come up on the weekend of the 25th and 26th of April. There is little guarantee after this round of open days, that another opportunity to view the ship timbers will come up again anytime soon, if indeed ever. It seems ludicrous to suggest that these timbers may never be seen by the public again, but unless dramatic changes of attitude are to be found in Newport's elected elite, this could well be the case. Equally, nothing would send a stronger message to Newport City Council regarding the importance of the Ship to Newport, than if thousands come along to the open day and express both their support for the ship, but also their interest in a unique historic resource. So, if you value this marvelous archaeological find, take the time to pop down to the industrial estate, and add your presence - every body helps when it comes to showing the powers that be, that this really is something worth investing in and supporting. Six and a half years ago, one of the most engaging and innovative displays of archaeology seen in Wales was opened. In 2007, the Origins Gallery in the National Museum of Wales became the home for the national archaeological narrative. Having previously been stretched out over multiple floors and several galleries, the archaeology collections suffered from a change in museum strategy, and were relocated into a much smaller display area, into what was always intended to be a temporary exhibition. Come the 2nd of March, 2014, there will be no doubt as to the temporary status of this display, it will close, permanently. With the closure of the Origins gallery, the city centre museum will bid farewell to the displayed archaeological materials. This is particularly significant because since the very earliest days of the national museum project in Wales, archaeology has been a significant contributor to the museum displays and collections. With Mortimer Wheeler at the helm, first as a Keeper of Archaeology, but later as Director of the entire institution, the archaeological narrative played a defining role in considerations of what Wales was built on, and where a sense of Welsh identity came from. No more. In the coming years, the redevelopment of St Fagans will come to fruition, and in one form or another, archaeology themed displays will find a new place of residence. It waits to be seen what level of prominence this narrative will have in a site that continues to struggle in efforts to shake off long standing associations with folk narratives. Yet this is the climate into which archaeology will, in the future, be seen and explored. Only time will tell if this is going to work out well for archaeology in Wales, and while there are many who have voiced concerns about this shift, we can now only get behind the project, and work hard to ensure that archaeology becomes a centre piece of the new St Fagans, rather a neglected side show, hidden in the background. For now though, we need think less of the future for a moment, and take advantage of the amazing resource that we have in Wales while we still can. At time of writing there are only 25 days left in which the Origins gallery can be explored. While St Fagans will certainly display some of these collections, it is currently impossible to say when these items will be accessible for public consumption again. The likes of the Capel Garmon firedog, the Roman Leopard Cup, stones from Bryn Celli Ddu, and the ogham marked standing stones, are only a small selection of the world class archaeological collections on display in Cardiff. Wales is culturally richer for their display. Equally, we are worse off for their now inevitable retreat. At Caerleon, University of South Wales, we have made consistent use of the Origins gallery, in terms of aiding student understanding of the early Wales narrative, but also in the exploration of a wealth of display and interpretation issues. It has been a tremendous and valuable resource on so many levels, and from a very personal perspective, I will sincerely lament the loss this archaeology gallery. So, while you still can, I implore you to visit this gem of a collection, ponder both the archaeological and museological issues, but most of all, enjoy it, as there are few finer displays of archaeology to be had on this island. As I understand it, there were some sixty odd thousand rugby fans at the recent Wales v Italy Six Nations fixture in Cardiff. Yet, for all those numbers present, there was something quite eerie about the sense of occasion, or lack thereof. I’ve mused in the past on the changing nature of the Welsh rugby fan, having come across some impressively violent types inside the stadium, who were the very antithesis of the stereotyped fan of old. There are wonderful black and white images of the moustachioed fan of the ‘70s to be found, where the size of your rosette seemed to be a good indicator of your commitment to the cause of the game. Film recordings of games from the period capture the era of song. Thousands would join in verses that went somewhat beyond the simplified rounds of ‘bread of heaven’, which appear to be all that we are left with today. Put simply, the Welsh rugby fan as we like to remember them, no longer seem to attend Welsh rugby internationals. The disengagement with the match day experience of old can be seen all across the Millennium Stadium. The age old issue of alcohol sales in the ground are a constant bug bear. The greatest dilemma faced by a fan now is not when to dash out to the toilets, but how much of the first half they should miss in order to secure themselves a four pack of beer, in advance of the second half. Twenty five minutes into any game, there is a sudden flurry of bobbing heads, as seated fans duck and weave around moving fans, on route to bar, or, as is inevitable in the second half, on route to relief. But alcohol is perhaps the lesser of the distractions to interfere with crowd quality in this decade. The view from the top tier of the stadium towards the pitch, has now become akin to a natural history programme. In the swirling throng of seated thousands, is a bobbing of light. Hundreds of glow worm like blurs appear scattered through those congregated. Of course these are no giant insects, but the ever present mobile / smartphone. With alcohol at least there is the possibility that reduced inhibitions will only serve to encourage raucous singing. With a smartphone, there is only the possibility of distraction. There are those making abortive attempts at phone calls, near impossible even with a disconnected crowd, sixty thousand are rarely quite, even when doing next to nothing. There are those busily texting, and there are those impressively checking details on the game that they are watching – that strikes as one of the most baffling decisions of all. There are those eagerly attempting to take ridiculously long range photographs, making a seemingly conscious decision to view the game through the tiny box screen of their phone, rather than with their own eyes. All of which conspires to create a situation in which the actual game becomes a secondary priority. The most pressing objective of match day would now appear to be to let people know via social and digital media, that they were at the game, rather than take time to actually experience it. The singing, rosetted rugby fan of old would find the modern international experience in Cardiff somewhat obscure. People are paying more and more to enter an international sports arena, where they are watching less and less of the actual game on the field in front of them. Now for a heritage blog, this might seem a little of a tangent, yet the match day experience, the Welsh rugby fan ideal, is one which travels, it is an extension of the intangible culture heritage that the Welsh rugby experience is, or at least used to be. Sadly, the singing, the camaraderie and the connection between fan and game, appears to be almost lost. The experience has changed, the Welsh rugby fan has changed, neither, unfortunately, for the better. So if you happen to be at Wales v France in a few weeks, maybe take the time to put down the phone, hold off on the beer, and maybe, just maybe, watch the game, and sing a song from the programme. You might find the whole experience something quite special. Or, you might just be going there to send a tweet, and pay £60 to walk around concrete corridors with a beer while thirty people chase a ball somewhere nearby you, out of sight. The choice, for a Welsh rugby fan, strikes me as being quite simple, but maybe, even in my early thirties, I am more of a relic of the ‘70s than a fan of the 21st century. |
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