Does anything we do make a difference?
I’ve always been interested in images of before and after, and I suppose that would seem only natural for an artist who starts with a virgin blank canvas and hopes that with the skills he or she has acquired to make a difference, alter, change, improve, surprise, or even inspire. In my most recent body of needlework I found myself having to step back in time to a period when horse and cart were the norm. In the series of piers ports and jetties Stornoway harbour would have looked very different back then and the arrival of the car and resulting car parks has done little aesthetically for the look of the town.
I find myself looking back through images from my past,
seeing faces who are no longer here, places that have altered beyond all
recognition, and I try to counterbalance these with pictures that depict how
nature has continued to flourish. Trees that I have planted that now provide
sustenance and shelter to wildlife, walls that I built that give nesting places
for wrens and bumble bees, areas that I have allowed to go wild where insects
can thrive. Those gardens I have created never included the well-manicured
lawn. There is no obvious sign of planning, and much like my needlework they
simply evolve. I look at photos taken nearly twenty years ago and marvel at the
difference my efforts, but also nature’s resilience has brought about.
The brilliance of autumn is often short lived here on Lewis,
a matter of hours as can be seen from before and after last week’s storm. As
well as leaves we also saw the loss of Tesco’s mobile phone coverage, which has
meant for the past week I’ve had no phone or internet. This is not a problem
for me as I’ve lived up to relatively recently without either, but with my
medical condition it is concerning for others who worry about lack of any
response from me. In my arrogant youth it seemed that making a difference was
going to be within my grasp, and I found myself driven in whatever way I could
to make change happen. Admittedly things did happen, and I was even dubbed the
catalyst, one who assisted in a chemical reaction to cause change. I found
things did indeed change when I was involved. However during that chemical
reaction the catalyst itself undergoes no alteration, and that led me to ask
why I was expending so much time and energy on things that were unlikely to
endure. What did I want out of this life, and was what I wanted likely to
influence in any significant way the human plight. It took me another decade or
more to realise that the human race seemed to be on a relentless and horrific
path of self-destruction. I put this down to our inability to accept the
finality our own mortality with the subsequent need to invent religion and a
belief system that provided an essential eternal afterlife. However it does not
follow that the loss of this belief is any more likely to lead to better
behaviour. It was at that point I started to direct my energy towards the
natural beauty of my surroundings, and although this was more often than not
centred on nature it did not preclude the beauty of mankind’s glorious creative
past. This has sustained me as an artist for more than half my life, but in old
age I return once more to the question of, has it, or will it make any
difference. For those who have produced children there must always be the hope
that the next generation will do better, but when I look to my own childhood
and do that (then and now) thing it
sadness me. I am sure there is nothing unusual in this, and it is a quite
normal condition of heading into the final years of life on planet earth. When
talking with people from my own generation the conversation will more often
than not include a lot of nostalgia for the past, horror of the present and
fear for a future that sees the human race rushing like lemmings for the
nearest cliff. With such a jaundice outlook I feel it only right that I exclude
myself from any decision making. It has not escaped my attention that those
wishing to be elected into positions of power will without fail always feature
the word change foremost in their manifesto. Many strive to understand the
meaning of life and why we are here. I think 42 is as good an answer as any to
that particular conundrum.
So, can a pretty
picture give little more than some fleeting pleasure before being consigned to
our society’s consumerist landfill? I recently saw in an exhibition that
included two large images of hell and heaven, but to me there seemed to be
little difference between the two. Both contained way too many human beings.
