A very physical change has happened to my small and previously rarely visited local town of Helston in Cornwall. Gentrification, more commonly occurring on the north coast of the region in places like Rock (where ex-prime minister David Cameron famously owns his second, possibly third but likely fourth or fifth home), has sunk its claws into the very heart of the town. Despite its popularity and image in urban places like London and Birmingham, my own experiences would suggest Cornwall has a dual identity within the United Kingdom. Some visitors see a sunny, romanticized county of England, somewhere they aspire to retire, like Newquay for example. People from the Celtic fringes of these Isles however, might identify with Cornwall differently; Kernow, a land and people with a pre-roman history, one of the lesser recognised Celtic nations of ancient Briton with its own surviving and growing native culture and language. One thing that both perspectives do share, however, is the Duchy's natural aesthetic beauty, one of many contributing factors to it becoming the birthplace of British modernism.
In her book The war, Cornwall, and artist in landscape, 1939–1946 Barbara Hepworth reminisces: “the barbaric and magical countryside of rocky hills, fertile valleys, and dynamic coastline of West Penwith has provided me with a background and a soil which compare in strength with those of my childhood in the West Riding”. Hepworth and her husband at the time, Ben Nicholson, were a relatively wealthy young Bohemian couple. Like many other artists, they fled their city abodes during the 'Blitz', and sought refuge in a small fishing village on the north coast – St. Ives. Hepworth compares her strong affection for the geography with perhaps some of the memories we might hold as our dearest, namely our childhood memories. St. Ives often elicits a sense of nostalgia in people because it has been a popular family tourist destination since the 1950s. Venice this summer (2017), another maze of cobbled alleyways, with tourists 'packed like tins of sardines' (as my Gran might say) drew a remarkable amount of parallels, in my mind, with St. Ives.
Now, finding actual Cornish people in St. Ives today (just like finding Venetians in Venice), can be a bit of a job. When you do, I think it’s fair to say that you shouldn't expect too much from any interaction. That, however, is where the similarities stop, and the parallels form. Despite the Tate St. Ives Gallery and picturesque scenery bringing in floods of people all year-round, all-day, every-day (with a notable peak during the summer holidays), Cornwall, along side the Rhondda Valley in Cymru, is also currently one of Northern Europe's poorest economies. Tourism is not sustainable and subsequently, large parts of West Cornwall are socially and economically deprived. Some people note that you might only find locals on the council estates that surround these towns, referring to the swathes of cheap, damp and rushed government housing that engulf the still grand, but somewhat worn down older streets, built on a legacy of local hard rock mining expertise. In fact, the region generated such wealth during the industrial revolution that local Cornish philanthropists such as John Passmore Edwards, went up and down the United Kingdom building huge granite libraries, schools and theatres, many of which are still in use today and keeping to their original covenant – that they are always used for pedagogical purposes.
One of these buildings was built in Helston, the town where I grew up. The building is now occupied by a charitable, not for profit organisation called CAST (The Cornubian Arts and Science Trust), where I had a studio for three years. The building is always fully occupied, mostly by abstract painters, however not exclusively. The head of the Board of Trustees is Teresa Gleadowe, acclaimed for her success in bringing the first Curatorial MA to the United Kingdom. Teresa and her partner Nicolas Serota, ex-director of the Tate institution, now head of Arts Council England, have both chosen Helston for a quieter life. Their house is situated in one of the most idyllic parts of town. The CAST complex, just around the corner from where they live, sits proudly on top of Penrose Hill, and boasts dramatic views of St. Michael's Church and the historic residences surrounding it. Both Teresa and Nicolas settled well, and have begun charming local counsellors and notable members of the community. However they were both noticeably absent from the town’s most significant festive date – 'Flora Day' (a festival bigger than Christmas in Helston), because they're usually at the opening week of 'La Biennale di Venezia', or presumably attending to show openings at various other Tate sites. John Passmore Edward's contribution to the town has thus far remained open for Flora Day – as is tradition that Helston's main public buildings do. Nonetheless through an institutional lack of enthusiasm for the festival at CAST, voluntarily (through a personal sense of embarrassment), I've felt it my responsibility to organise the decoration, a custom that indicates to the public that your building is participating in the festivities. Before joining CAST, a 'studio meeting' had been held ON Flora Day, and no decorations were put up. To the amazement of some, only a small number of people attended the meeting. Possibly because the whole town and its narrow winding streets were all closed off, to allow the 'Furry Dance' to weave through and around houses, a custom that historically used to see itself burst straight through Teresa's current residence. However it's more likely no one showed up because the only services that work properly during this tidal swell of people (our diaspora from all corners of the globe, Notably Australia where rumour has it there are more Cornishmen than in Kernow itself), are for pasties, real ale and candy-floss. Subsequently, I always felt it an uphill struggle when it came to getting other artists at CAST to give much of their attention to anything that clearly identified itself as uniquely Cornish. After my experiences there as a studio renting artist, it became clear that these were a group of artists, based-in Cornwall who wanted nothing to do with ‘Kernow’. Further more it seemed to be that some people actively ignored Cornish culture, seeking their cultural fill from bi-annual trips to Venice, or other such events.
In her book The war, Cornwall, and artist in landscape, 1939–1946 Barbara Hepworth reminisces: “the barbaric and magical countryside of rocky hills, fertile valleys, and dynamic coastline of West Penwith has provided me with a background and a soil which compare in strength with those of my childhood in the West Riding”. Hepworth and her husband at the time, Ben Nicholson, were a relatively wealthy young Bohemian couple. Like many other artists, they fled their city abodes during the 'Blitz', and sought refuge in a small fishing village on the north coast – St. Ives. Hepworth compares her strong affection for the geography with perhaps some of the memories we might hold as our dearest, namely our childhood memories. St. Ives often elicits a sense of nostalgia in people because it has been a popular family tourist destination since the 1950s. Venice this summer (2017), another maze of cobbled alleyways, with tourists 'packed like tins of sardines' (as my Gran might say) drew a remarkable amount of parallels, in my mind, with St. Ives.
Now, finding actual Cornish people in St. Ives today (just like finding Venetians in Venice), can be a bit of a job. When you do, I think it’s fair to say that you shouldn't expect too much from any interaction. That, however, is where the similarities stop, and the parallels form. Despite the Tate St. Ives Gallery and picturesque scenery bringing in floods of people all year-round, all-day, every-day (with a notable peak during the summer holidays), Cornwall, along side the Rhondda Valley in Cymru, is also currently one of Northern Europe's poorest economies. Tourism is not sustainable and subsequently, large parts of West Cornwall are socially and economically deprived. Some people note that you might only find locals on the council estates that surround these towns, referring to the swathes of cheap, damp and rushed government housing that engulf the still grand, but somewhat worn down older streets, built on a legacy of local hard rock mining expertise. In fact, the region generated such wealth during the industrial revolution that local Cornish philanthropists such as John Passmore Edwards, went up and down the United Kingdom building huge granite libraries, schools and theatres, many of which are still in use today and keeping to their original covenant – that they are always used for pedagogical purposes.
One of these buildings was built in Helston, the town where I grew up. The building is now occupied by a charitable, not for profit organisation called CAST (The Cornubian Arts and Science Trust), where I had a studio for three years. The building is always fully occupied, mostly by abstract painters, however not exclusively. The head of the Board of Trustees is Teresa Gleadowe, acclaimed for her success in bringing the first Curatorial MA to the United Kingdom. Teresa and her partner Nicolas Serota, ex-director of the Tate institution, now head of Arts Council England, have both chosen Helston for a quieter life. Their house is situated in one of the most idyllic parts of town. The CAST complex, just around the corner from where they live, sits proudly on top of Penrose Hill, and boasts dramatic views of St. Michael's Church and the historic residences surrounding it. Both Teresa and Nicolas settled well, and have begun charming local counsellors and notable members of the community. However they were both noticeably absent from the town’s most significant festive date – 'Flora Day' (a festival bigger than Christmas in Helston), because they're usually at the opening week of 'La Biennale di Venezia', or presumably attending to show openings at various other Tate sites. John Passmore Edward's contribution to the town has thus far remained open for Flora Day – as is tradition that Helston's main public buildings do. Nonetheless through an institutional lack of enthusiasm for the festival at CAST, voluntarily (through a personal sense of embarrassment), I've felt it my responsibility to organise the decoration, a custom that indicates to the public that your building is participating in the festivities. Before joining CAST, a 'studio meeting' had been held ON Flora Day, and no decorations were put up. To the amazement of some, only a small number of people attended the meeting. Possibly because the whole town and its narrow winding streets were all closed off, to allow the 'Furry Dance' to weave through and around houses, a custom that historically used to see itself burst straight through Teresa's current residence. However it's more likely no one showed up because the only services that work properly during this tidal swell of people (our diaspora from all corners of the globe, Notably Australia where rumour has it there are more Cornishmen than in Kernow itself), are for pasties, real ale and candy-floss. Subsequently, I always felt it an uphill struggle when it came to getting other artists at CAST to give much of their attention to anything that clearly identified itself as uniquely Cornish. After my experiences there as a studio renting artist, it became clear that these were a group of artists, based-in Cornwall who wanted nothing to do with ‘Kernow’. Further more it seemed to be that some people actively ignored Cornish culture, seeking their cultural fill from bi-annual trips to Venice, or other such events.
Whilst attending 57th La Biennale di Venezia and Documenta 14 last year myself, my faith in major international contemporary art events were raised to new optimistic, socially political highs, before being smashed hard on a cold, expensive and extravagant Venetian floor. It seemed that no matter how one approached an international art exhibition, it would inevitably bring about wealthy collectors and gallerists, ultimately gentrifying the surrounding area. Venice does this shamelessly and exploits its romanticism and prestige to become a hugely popular, expensive event. Kassel, on the other hand, sharing its event with Athens this year, nods to recent political tensions, as well as in-ignorable historical facts. A line drawn on a map from one city to another, not coincidently, the same route many thousands of Syrian refugees have had to walk during recent hardships, featured on many of the event's documents, as a stark reminder of Germany's efforts in housing the current influx of displaced refugees stranded in Greece. 'The Pantheon of Books' by Marta Minujins, a clear reference to Athens' 'birth place of democracy' was recreated with literature that is banned or has been made contraband in some countries, but was erected on the site in Friedrichsplatz in Kassel where the German National Socialist party infamously burnt 100,000 newly banned pieces of literature in the 1930s. In contrast, the only memorable attempt to map and catalogue a history of anything at the Venice Biennale, was in the 'Venetian Pavilion'. Here, a display of the world's finest materials, perfumes and expensive goods were directed with golden lines on black fabric maps, back to Venice - a city built on trade and empire. The pavilion obviously was sponsored by big Italian designers and lacked any artistic meaning by anyone’s standard, to such extent that the pavilion didn't even display any art – only artefacts of loose relevance to its history of capital. One of a few major sculptures in the city over the Biennale period for all to see, with no payed ticket, was 'The Golden Tower' by James Lee Byars, a 20-metre-tall golden totem, erected in Venice's Campo San Vio, 20 years after JLB's death. It towers violently over the Grand Canal as an extravagant display of wealth and phallic fallacy. Its golden aura and glow become symbolic of the culture of luxury that naturally overshadows any politically responsible artist's work during the Biennale season.
With my native Kernow in mind, and after visiting Kassel and Venice, I came to realise that my home town Helston has begun a similar, irreversible chapter in its history. The Cornubian Arts and Science Trust has opened its doors and is projecting a programme of international artist-led workshops, exhibitions and shows in and around Kernow. Fantastic, right? The programme is called 'Groundwork' perhaps hinting at something bigger in the near future but all the same, many of these artists are usually visiting Kernow for the first time for these events. My concerns therein are that these imported cultures in the form of works of art, workshops and exhibitions currently overshadow local contemporary artists, pushing their sense of place and unique understanding of Cornwall out of the limelight. The events featured don't seem to acknowledge the unique culture of Kernow in the way that Documenta feeds on ideas of local socio-political histories and futures. Instead it appears that, like La Biennale di Venezia, Groundwork is paving the way for a systematic exploitation of Cornwall’s beauty. Whatever presents itself for this event in Cornwall, it has all happened by fastidious design. Artists associated with CAST certainly aren't there by mistake, after all, Teresa “CASTs” an interview and selection process to assess who should be granted a space there. It seems very unlikely that everyone at the building has conveniently and blissfully been unaware of an alternative identity to an Anglo-Saxon one. But do artists in Cornwall have a responsibility to represent or at least notice the struggling, native Cornish culture and its recognised ethnicity? Or is it OK that like Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson, they should commit a sort of cultural appropriation, largely ignoring the local population and their customs and language, yet still benefiting from Kernow’s natural beauty?
However wonderful and exciting as it can be, to have such internationally acclaimed people come to this tiny rural part of Great Britain, as a result of the programmes CAST are organizing, sometimes the themes of their events can seem to look at my local landscape and culture as though no one is or has ever been here before. As though my rural community is an uncharted territory, looking to be discovered for the first time and repackaged as a sell-able lifestyle commodity. Maybe, my worst fears will be confirmed and the new wave of art monopoly in Cornwall will manufacture a local-international art(s) fair, one to rival 'Freeze' – as an alternative to London. If I'm lucky (and I fear I may not be) it will look more like Documenta, and ideas of Kernow can be explored and respected. If I'm not, then it'll look like 'La Biennale di Venezia', and imported culture to Cornwall will overshadow Kernewek culture. Either or, and despite how anyone refashions this tiny Celtic nation, just like Barbara, I'll always have my childhood memories to reminisce.
With my native Kernow in mind, and after visiting Kassel and Venice, I came to realise that my home town Helston has begun a similar, irreversible chapter in its history. The Cornubian Arts and Science Trust has opened its doors and is projecting a programme of international artist-led workshops, exhibitions and shows in and around Kernow. Fantastic, right? The programme is called 'Groundwork' perhaps hinting at something bigger in the near future but all the same, many of these artists are usually visiting Kernow for the first time for these events. My concerns therein are that these imported cultures in the form of works of art, workshops and exhibitions currently overshadow local contemporary artists, pushing their sense of place and unique understanding of Cornwall out of the limelight. The events featured don't seem to acknowledge the unique culture of Kernow in the way that Documenta feeds on ideas of local socio-political histories and futures. Instead it appears that, like La Biennale di Venezia, Groundwork is paving the way for a systematic exploitation of Cornwall’s beauty. Whatever presents itself for this event in Cornwall, it has all happened by fastidious design. Artists associated with CAST certainly aren't there by mistake, after all, Teresa “CASTs” an interview and selection process to assess who should be granted a space there. It seems very unlikely that everyone at the building has conveniently and blissfully been unaware of an alternative identity to an Anglo-Saxon one. But do artists in Cornwall have a responsibility to represent or at least notice the struggling, native Cornish culture and its recognised ethnicity? Or is it OK that like Barbara Hepworth and Ben Nicholson, they should commit a sort of cultural appropriation, largely ignoring the local population and their customs and language, yet still benefiting from Kernow’s natural beauty?
However wonderful and exciting as it can be, to have such internationally acclaimed people come to this tiny rural part of Great Britain, as a result of the programmes CAST are organizing, sometimes the themes of their events can seem to look at my local landscape and culture as though no one is or has ever been here before. As though my rural community is an uncharted territory, looking to be discovered for the first time and repackaged as a sell-able lifestyle commodity. Maybe, my worst fears will be confirmed and the new wave of art monopoly in Cornwall will manufacture a local-international art(s) fair, one to rival 'Freeze' – as an alternative to London. If I'm lucky (and I fear I may not be) it will look more like Documenta, and ideas of Kernow can be explored and respected. If I'm not, then it'll look like 'La Biennale di Venezia', and imported culture to Cornwall will overshadow Kernewek culture. Either or, and despite how anyone refashions this tiny Celtic nation, just like Barbara, I'll always have my childhood memories to reminisce.
