What a dilemma Saturday was, staying in for what appeared to be the most outrageous night of Eurovision for several years, or make way for the windy battered, darkened corner of Llanishen Village Hall? In the end, my enduring love and passion for all forms of intangible cultural heritage meant I braved the storm, passed on the opportunity to watch Conchita enrage Russian authorities, and enjoyed what turned out to be one of the most compelling nights of storytelling that I have enjoyed in a very long time. Over the weekend was staged an utterly compelling performance of ‘Hunting the Giants Daughter’. This was an interpretation of the tale of Culhwch and Olwen, of Mabinogi fame, a marvellous story of heroism, boar hunting and, what I maintain is utterly unnecessary but repeated decapitations of giants – as stories go, this one has never been lacking in a sense of the fantastic. In many respects however, the actual story was somewhat peripheral to the sense of occasion, as performance group Adverse Camber delivered such an engaging evening, that they really could have been talking about anything, such was the power of their delivery. Adverse Camber specialise in the delivery of new approaches to storytelling, yet their approach is one which taps into the essence of a historical form of delivery, which echoes how we might imagine such tales to have been delivered before their committal to vellum. Combining animated oral delivery, song and musical instruments, Adverse Camber deliver an interpretation which is ultimately far more complex than appearances suggest. Michael Harvey’s oratory skills and memory capacity are repeatedly tested, as the lists which dominate much of the story were delivered in intricate detail and unwavering energy. Coupled with Lynne Denman and Stacey Blythe, Culhwch and Olwen was brought to life in a way in which I have not before had the pleasure to enjoy. From a personal perspective, to see Welsh intangible cultural heritage performed to an engaged audience, especially one so far toward the eastern boundary of Wales, is truly inspiring. The tales of the Mabinogi are not known as well as they should be. Lecturing this year to undergraduate History students, I was dismayed to find that nearly none in the class had any familiarity with these stories – and quickly set about writing a new class specifically to introduce this material. At the same time, to see an individual captivate a crowd with a story, is something that is very rare indeed, yet in Welsh tradition, such a delivery would have once been common place. All sorts of intangible traditions have been lost in Wales, but this art of storytelling is slowly been brought back to contemporary audiences by the impressive efforts of Adverse Camber. An important component in the evening’s entertainment though, was the organisational role played by the Arts Council for Wales, through their Night Out scheme. The programme looks to support rural communities in the hosting of professional performances, the likes of which would usually prove prohibitively expensive to pursue. Night Out supports communities by covering the majority of the costs of the performers, leaving communities to focus on a minimum numbers of ticket sales to cover the comparatively manageable overheads for an event. Without Night Out, Llanishen in Monmouthshire would never have been able to afford the talents provided by Adverse Camber. The importance therefore, of such organisations in making it plausible for communities to host such occasions, is arguably as important as the events themselves. Certainly, Adverse Camber are worth the cost, with or without assistance, and if you have the opportunity to catch their unique, but historically familiar approach to storytelling, I would thoroughly recommend it. Sadly fewer and fewer people in Wales have any knowledge of the stories of the Mabinogi. One viewing of Adverse Camber will leave a lasting memory, which will go some way to ensuring the long term viability of these tales in a contemporary Welsh context.
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I seem to have no shortage of new projects going on at the moment - no bad thing giving my impending redundancy (though that's a story for another day)! What with end of year marking, job hunting, thesis prep (yes, the viva is still on the to-do list), our burgeoning Cyfarwydd organisation, forthcoming book chapters and an array of articles, I can't complain for want of things to do. That being said, I've recently had the pleasure of adding the Nomos Journal to that list.
The Nomos Journal is an interesting new digital publication, exploring connections between faith and popular culture. Today saw the launch of my column, which explores this relationship, perhaps unsurprisingly, through heritage. These two fields have significant overlap, and it seemed appropriate to get things started with a look at the increasingly fragile state of intangible cultural heritage in Wales. The column will be running on a quarterly basis, and I'm looking forward to the July addition. In the meantime, the theme for this month's column can be found below, and the rest of the column can be read at: http://nomosjournal.org/columns/2014/04/heritage-songs-the-decline-of-a-cultural-tradition/ Wales is a nation defined by a number of cultural stereotypes. Of these, singing and the choral tradition is one of the most heavily exported visions of Wales. The cultural origins for this intangible form of heritage are rooted in a faith-based non-conformist background, but as Wales becomes increasingly secular, what future does the singing tradition of Wales have? It had all the makings of something brilliant. Allen Ginsberg, LSD and the holdings of the National Museum of Wales. The ingredients for museum magic had all been carefully selected, and yet, the end flavour was something quite bland. This was the overwhelming, or perhaps underwhelming would be a more apt description, feeling that I was left with on leaving the latest exhibition to fill the contemporary art wing of the National Museum. Wales Visitation: Poetry, Romanticism and Myth in Art starts with a bang, and then fizzles into familiar territory and oft trod paths. It had the makings of brilliance, the end result was someway short. The latest exhibition to occupy the first floor of the National Museum takes its inspiration from a poem, crafted by Allen Ginsberg during an LSD driven journey through the Black Mountains. The poem itself is a giddy but recognizable work. There is no doubt that the verses of Wales Visitation are ones which embrace the ancient landscape through a subverted lense of perception, and yet, the reality Ginsberg creates is one that will trigger the memory of anyone to have taken a walk through that same setting. The Welsh landscape, as inspiration, sets the tone for the gallery themes to come. Sadly though, the altered realities enjoyed in the verse, have little impact on the interpretations to come. Wales Visitation certainly opens impressively. Visitors are unavoidably confronted by a giant projection of Ginsberg. This frantic, bearded face looms over the entry way, leaving those who enter in little doubt as to who has provided the initial inspiration for the overall exhibition. Opposite Ginsberg’s projected performance, are Thomas Jones’ The Bard, and Iolo Morganwg’s bardic alphabet. It all resonates with elements of Ginsberg’s poem and mention of bards, and connects the 1960s work with a historical Welsh narrative of poetic imaginings and bardic tradition. It serves as an effective juxtaposition and, for the National Museum, a reasonably innovative opening to an exhibition. Sadly, from this point on, everything becomes terribly safe and common. While the inclusion of several offerings from Graham Sutherland certainly further the concept of the Welsh landscape inspiring artists, Sutherland’s very inclusion serves to undermine any sense of challenge that this exhibition might pose, put simply, we have been here before in this museum. Once more, Richard Long’s Blaenau Ffestiniog Circle is rolled out, just as it was when the contemporary art galleries were first opened three years ago. The same might be said of the ever wonderful Glory Glory by Laura Ford. This fantastical reimagining of traditional Welsh costume adds a sense of the macabre and the uncanny to the exhibition, but it is far from a new addition to these galleries. Perhaps though it is not so much the familiarity of the works of art on show here, but the way in which they are displayed. Walking through the gallery, I kept asking myself ‘where is the LSD?’ Not wanting the National Museum to plunge headfirst into the inconceivable, I had at least hoped that the exhibition design would have challenged me as much as the collections. In the end, Wales Visitation becomes a harmless, standard exhibition. No chances are taken, nothing about the exhibit stands out as distinctive or, frankly, memorable. It’s a terrible shame, because when I first became aware of the concept, I wanted to be challenged, I wanted to be wowed. Ultimately, I wanted the National Museum Wales to show us that its approach to contemporary art displays could amount to something more than pattern match programmes. The collections allow for the memorable, but Wales Visitation becomes Wales Forgettable all too quickly. A side grumble – there is a wonderful family guide available, complete with a miniature cartoon Ginsberg. It’s wonderful in its whimsy, but the guide seems most accessible (in terms of being physically obtainable for visitors) only when having worked through two-thirds of the exhibition. For many, by the time they find this brilliant little trail, they are almost at the end of the entire exhibit already – another disappointing oversight. 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. 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. 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. Some five years later, and the writing is about there. To my left is a pile of notes, doing its best to cascade off the side of the table. Some three hundred pages, littered with pencil marks indicating a missing letter, a lack of italics, or an incorrect date – and every single one of them has been resolved. This is the fifth time that I have sat down and said ‘that is it’, and resolved to close the edited document for the final time, the fifth and final time it would now appear. While printing, binding, and that whole viva thing are still in the near future, the biggest, most time and soul consuming elements of the PhD process is at an end. So five years on, life may be experienced once again. I have flashbacks to an interview, where I successfully made my case for the bursary that covered the costs of the first few years of the research. The person chairing that interview has since retired, as have at least five other individuals in the University who had some form of significant influence over proceedings at one stage or another. That being said, the University I started my research in does not even exist anymore! This thesis has outlived careers and institutions, such has been the protracted nature of its progress. I bought a house, okay, with a lot of help and others people’s money, but it’s still mine. We had bearded Americans move in, and bearded Americans move out. We went from having no pets, to having three cats, two dogs and as many horses – it would seem that for each year of the thesis the animals incrementally increased in size, a sixth year, while resulting in an overall failure, would surely have had to have been commemorated with the purchase of some manner of domesticated bison. And while we have not quite got married during the period of research, we did get engaged right in the middle of it all – perhaps submission will actually allow for that ceremony now! I started my research in Wales. Before long I had taken tea in the House of Commons, discussed Nazis in the National Museum of Ireland, flown to Iceland with a French documentary filmmaker, then been given a book by every museum professional (there were a lot of them) I met in Iceland, got lost in the wastelands that surround the airport in the capital of Greenland, Nuuk, before distributing Welsh flags in every cultural building that I could find in Greenland. Oh yes, we also went scampering around live volcanoes and narrowly avoided being sunk by increasingly large icebergs, but those are stories for another time. One day, I’ll really need to work out the carbon footprint of the thesis – for a consideration of heritage in Wales, I think it’s going to be surprisingly large. I was in my twenties when I started, and thirties now I’m finishing – which makes the whole process sound a lot longer than it actually was, but equally makes me feel tremendously old. Wales have won two Six Nations championships in that time, and reached a World Cup semi final, while the Lions won a test series, all of which surely bodes well for the viva I’m sure. While I have been able to enjoy some sporting glory, there are lots of other things that I have not been able to enjoy. I don’t even remember the feeling of cold mud under a pillow made from t-shirts, such is the length of time that has passed since I last went to a music festival. Exhibitions have proven to be too far away to be able to justify the time, films too expensive a luxury as the bursary began to run out. Birthday celebrations of loved ones were missed as time became a slave to the whip of editing, and for that, and to each of you who I did not celebrate with, I am sorry, and hope you will let me make up for it with birthdays to come. Yet a week from now, those few hundred pages will have been printed and bound, packaged up and sent away. Life may resume. I’m not sure what will come first, going to rugby matches, booking up some festivals somewhere, catching up on the latest touring exhibition in the British Museum, reading something that is not related to the thesis, or reading something that is not related to the thesis but not feeling terribly guilty about doing so, seeing where computer gaming is after parting ways with it about half way through the thesis, or returning to my beloved kendo and smacking some skulls with bamboo. Maybe, just maybe, sitting down without having to think about what needs correcting in which chapter, will suffice for day 1, there’s plenty of time for catching up on all the other things from day 2 onwards! The end...until the viva...
The Holy Grail, or the Canton Cup?
It’s been an interesting week for heritage, not least due to the new Heritage Bill for Wales being released for public consultation. However one of the most interesting heritage related headlines to leap out from the pages this week was one to read ‘Christian icon Joseph of Arimathea could be buried in Cardiff’. The word ‘could’ is a fascinating one. Nero 'could' have confided in his beloved pet rat in times of crises, Silbury Hill 'could' have been constructed to act as a landmark to the finest Neolithic restaurant in all of whatever Avebury was referred to as back then, and forks 'could' be used to eat soup, of course none of them did, were or are, but if you were committed enough, then you could make a case for them. Therein lays the greatest danger of Joseph of Bute, as we should presumably now call him. The things we ‘could’ do with our heritage are fairly inexhaustible, especially if you want to put ethics and reason to one side. The article above goes on to tell readers that this is ‘our’ (Welsh) heritage. Is it though? Is it really? Okay, lets for one minute take off our rationale hats and swap them for our money making hats: Crook #1 ‘If we want to attract visitors to Cardiff, why don’t we just tell everyone that Joseph of Arimathea is buried here?’ Crook #2 ‘Good point, we can’t prove it, but that doesn’t matter.’ Crook #1 ‘Another good point, because we can’t prove a lot of things, but we can still say they happened right?’ Shortly after we can expect the Cardiff City sightseeing bus tour to suddenly call in at the burial place of Owain Glyn Dwr (conveniently buried directly under the pub of the same name, so ‘they’ say), metal shavings reputed to have splintered from Excalibur itself (new to the Origins gallery in the National Museum) and the final resting place of Madoc’s hat, washed up in Cardiff Bay. If you don’t take an ethical position on anything, we really could say and sell anything we wanted to about Welsh history. Does this sound a little extreme? Perhaps, but the other story to catch my attention this week might make us think about this issue for a little longer. China and the £58m Jibaozhai Museum, which was recently forced to close its doors to the public following a scandalous revelation that the majority of the artefacts displayed, were cheap fakes. Some wonderful quotes from the senior museum staff suggest that ‘some’ of the 40,000 objects were real, but not many. It would appear that this ‘institution’ has come to embody the very worst of museum corruption and deceit – morals and museum ethics have no place here, as the development of an attractive product seems to have consumed everyone involved. International condemnation and general mockery followed shortly after the story broke. So, with China in mind, let the cautionary tale of the museum that got caught out for misleading all of its visitors be a reminder. We certainly could say all sorts of enticing things about Welsh history and its connections to the world, indeed we can do that perfectly well with our legitimate and proven historical narratives, but let’s leave Joseph of Arimathea where he belongs, wherever that might be: it is certainly not in Cardiff City centre. We do not need to pretend, or need try to dupe anyone else into thinking anything other than that, and were we to do so, we would deserve the exact same scale of international mockery and derision faced by the Jibaozhai Museum does now.
'Heritage' Minister John Griffiths views the Mold Cape.
Be forewarned - there is a touch of the angry rant about this one, though I prefer to think of it more as a passionate perspective. I find the Mold Cape troubling, a beautiful, inspiring, technically brilliant, but ultimately troubling object. For the next few months, you can see the Mold Cape in Wales. Take the chance while you can, such occasions are few and far between, and duration of such visits are frequently ‘blink and you miss it’ moments. Before you know it, it will be packed up, shipped off, and back on display in London. Yet the ‘return’ of this object to Wales, initially to the south and then up to the north, does not really feel to me like something that should be celebrated. Instead it should be something that forces anyone in Wales with a love of culture, archaeology, or Welsh history in general, to ask some serious questions, of the object, and perhaps ourselves. I won’t disguise my delight at being able to peer at the cape at close quarters in Cardiff this week. It is a stunning example of Bronze Age gold working, and rightly placed in the company of the British Museum’s – ‘A History of the World in 100 Objects’ series. I had the comfort and space to explore the object for roughly half an hour during this last week [while managing to drop into the Origins Gallery at other points in the week as well], after all, there was next to no one else looking at the object while I was there, so no competition for viewing rights, no shoulder barging required. And while twitter trends are probably not the most reliable means of gauging public interest in an object or collection, a grand total of some twenty tweets on the objects return to Cardiff, at the very least indicates that the social networking communities are yet to be inspired by the cape coming to Wales. So why the lack of interest? Perhaps I should put my cards on the table, if you hadn’t already guessed it, I strongly believe that this object should be living permanently in Wales, if anything, Welsh museums should be loaning the object to the British Museum and not the other way around. I have never bought into the notion that this key Welsh object being displayed in central London somehow does anything beneficial for wider appreciation and understanding of Welsh archaeology/history/culture. Yet, what might be perceived as a lack of interest at the cape’s return, perhaps indicates why it should not be here, if audiences in Wales don’t care enough to come and look, what right do any of us have to argue for its return? Well, plenty of right. I have long feared that the disconnection between audience and object is symptomatic of the lack of engagement between audiences in Wales, and Welsh history. How are Welsh children, year on year, supposed to be encouraged to engage with our prehistoric narratives, inspired by the great artistic achievements to be produced on Welsh soil, when the greatest tangible products of those periods are behind glass case, some 150 miles away, in another country? This factor I fear is the key component in understanding why interest is so ephemeral. How might we be expected to launch a meaningful repatriation campaign when so few people in Wales seem to have any awareness that this object originated in Wales? The Mold Cape troubles me, because it should be in Wales, we should be fighting for it to be in Wales, but we don't, and we seem to have no inclination to ever do so - a situation which will only be reinforced through the continued absence of such works in Wales. Political representatives in Wales seem pretty happy to go along with the status quo as well. Culturally, we remain the junior partner, in spite of a decade of devolution. This is the ideal opportunity for political and cultural voices to make the claim – but none will. In turn, this should really challenge us to ask why bother loaning the object in the first place? If we don't care enough to fight for Welsh cultural heritage to be on Welsh soil all the time, why should we then care about such items dropping back in for several weeks – as suggested above, having spent some time with the collection in Cardiff, it seems that we don't care, and that should be the most troubling element of all. We should value the Mold Cape, we should appreciate its return, but then we should do one of two things. Fight for its return, or try to understand why we are content in Wales for such objects to reside outside of the daily reach of Welsh audiences? One or the other should be considered essential for the future of archaeological and cultural collections in Wales. |
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