Podcast: Far From Home (Dafur Radio Project)

An in-depth look at the experiences of Sudanese refugees. We hear from an 18-year-old Darfuri man frustrated with the bureaucratic red tape facing asylum seekers in the UK. And, the story of a grown-up Lost Boy who left Southern Sudan twenty years ago and is still waiting to go home. Finally, we learn about the efforts of a Darfuri refugee in the US to bring peace to the home he hasn't seen in years.
Click the title to download the podcast.

The Darfur Radio Project is a monthly radio broadcast that explores the historical, political, economic, and social contexts of the conflict in Darfur. Using personal stories as well as critical analysis, we aim both to introduce listeners to the complexities of the situation in Sudan and to give them the tools to effect change. We believe that education, good information, and analysis will play an important role in the search for sustainable, long-term peace in Sudan.

Post-Humanism

We are at a unique precipice at the great divide which separates human past and human future. Great leading line there for a piece of copy, but hold on my dear hearts. We have been given the opportunity at this great height to look backward and to look forward upon history and future, at choices made and choices which can be made for improvement and refinement. Some of these choices, indeed, have to be made for the sake of existence. Some might not affect existence but will merely the future of all of our peoples –merely, being too weak a word, but somewhat appropriate. Our present time is unique in that we have been given the awareness to view situations confronting us with intelligence, hindsight and a fair bit of intellectual clarity. We also have comfort, comfort to look upon history and our situation without great expense to ourselves or our neighbors –although as a side note, and pardon my digression, but it is often our neighbor (never seen) which takes the blunt of our mindlessness.

For most of the peoples in the G8 who reside above the poverty line, this is the life that we lead. These aforementioned peoples are given an abundance of choice which can have detrimental and or positive affects on other peoples, places, or things. Human morality and responsibility is an important subject here. Although these subjects have always been a central divide for debate throughout the ages, we have different morals now, bred by an advanced and for the most part, consumerist populous. These issues must be addressed.

We know the affect of our normal, everyday consumption which –let me not forget to mention- is at an all time high. Further, we know that even our little decisions affect others, and that even our smallest decisions can be sources of pain somewhere far away. In fact, for the first time, some of our smallest decisions -the butter we use, the detergents we clean our clothes with, the vehicles we drive- can affect not only ourselves, but others on a global basis as well. What great pressure for us all!

These concepts must be dealt with for us to build a future worth living. It is possible it could get on top of us if we do not harness it. The danger lies in the great global guilt, and the great global pain, but these are subjects for another time.

So, morality is important. ‘Yes, we know’ you say. You hear enough about it, yes, our responsibilities, yes, our duties to the planet you say, on televisions, billboards, posters, radio, word of mouth, books and magazines, possibly even website articles (read on!). Yet, it is more important now as humans have begun the great trek towards unification; i.e. worrying about morality on a global scale, outside of the village and the household. It is the first step (and possibly one of the few) to the nigh impossible Utopian ideal. This is an exciting prospect indeed. You may argue that global recognition has been around since 1945 -yes, with the bomb, and war, and the effects of these- but many small decisions with big reactions are now in the hands of the normal man and not a government, nor a despot, nor even (gasp!) nature (the defeat of nature and the nature guilt, will be another subject we will delve into soon dear brothers and sisters).

So now, possibly, the weight of morality can be counterbalanced by this:

Change is possible with a single human act.

You can agree to disagree.

The purpose of this series of articles is to stoke debate on human morality and the choices we are given the privilege to make –that is as beings with the ability to make choice as well as the spirit (one guesses) to free ourselves from animal urges. We’ll explore, together, the troubles and pleasure (oh especially the pleasures) of living in this modern age. We are unique –this present day is ours, given to us by evolution and heredity. We can choose what to eat, what to drink, whether or not to hunt, to eat meat or only vegetable, to drink diet or regular (to use an American aphorism) etcetera. We are unique, and being such, we have a great deal of philosophy to dive through to get to the crux of that meaning of life (is the meaning of life tied to morality? See, the questions keep coming!).

Who is this writer you will ask -and if you do not ask, why would you trust? So you ask and I give the answers in the tradition of many a past philosopher –as I will be calling myself while writing these articles; not great mind you, just a philosopher. I should indeed introduce some of my personal effects, my mind artillery if you will. It is important so that you may explore my own moral weighting. Being a male is indeed the first thing you should know about your dear narrator. As such, I will be giving a male’s perspective –albeit the post post-modern male’s perspective, with all the baggage that entails. Second, I am American and refuse to hide it, not even with all the immense paranoia, prejudice, and ignorance that this may bring to the discussions henceforth –on both my part and my readers. In this I am not afraid. I hope my arguments will be intelligent as will my audience be equally so. Third, I come from a social class which teeters between the poverty line and complete ruin, but the social class which often has the spurts of great windfall which keep one happy in such a position. This is important because I will be touching on subjects that hinder all classes, and will profess my ignorance to those people who have more than a few dimes to spare. This may appear in subsequent articles as over eager generalization, or overzealous ignorance, I do not know. Fourth, I have never been too strong with my beliefs, nor too weak, and as such a person I have a handful of creeds of which I always return to, and these, I hope, will opinionate me and not indoctrinate me. If I receive an e-mail, or, preferably, by the Gods, a letter, I will take any arguments into account and if thoroughly swayed, will profess this change in writing. This is my binding contract to you. We must have trust.

So with an introduction of such length, where do we begin? It is my belief to rarely pull punches so we should start with something quite heavy yes?

Let us deal with a question of greatest debate and deliberation; that of our evolution and development, specifically focusing on the concept of the Post-Human.

Whether you believe in evolution or not should not come into the debate. We have scientific evidence that the human species evolved in a certain way, yes, but at one time we did believe the Earth was flat, say, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt –that is if you believe in all that creationism rubbish. We are all here with our own ideas. But if evolution in history is false, the possibilities of evolution in our present are a harsh reality. With technology, gene splicing, DNA manipulation, and the all too unsettling prospects of human cloning, we have begun a new phase of human evolution –one engendered by our own intelligence.

Post-human theory is amongst one of the more interesting of these evolutionary prospects. The Post-human is described as -in evolutionary terms- a being whose qualities exceed that of present man and that said being can no longer be classified as such (human) for he/she/it has transcended the homo sapien. This all sounds like normal, proper evolution yes, but this Post-human being -by definition- must have at one time existed as a human but has since transcended this classification by application of mechanical and genetic components which have greatly advanced its abilities. Any human whom has been improved by nano-technology, genetic manipulation, life extension therapies, etc. but has not advanced beyond the universal definition of humanity (what ever that is) is dubbed a transhuman: that is someone in the transitional phase between the two classifications, owning elements of each.

There is an important distinction here –that the being that is post-human was once human but made the decision to evolve and to throw away what made them human by our definitions. Evolution has never been a choice, but rather, something nature (or God, whatever your beliefs) has thrown at us like so much sticky goo. Whatever stuck was there to stay. It was not man’s choice. Now the choice is with us as to how grand we want to be, how much we see God in ourselves, how much we believe we can transcend nature and improve upon ourselves. The implications of these improvements are endless; super human speed, strength, cognition (by way of nano-chips implanted in the brain). We could be living Frankenstein’s, but perhaps without the monster moniker.

So what are the moral implications here? One questions whether humans at this stage have had enough time, and that the human should indeed transcend. Some may worry about the implication this may have on the environment, as these new techno beings would have little need for the planet’s atmosphere.

There is so much debate to be had! Would we loose our emotional abilities? Do we want to? Have we already begun to with the advent of so many technological diversions? Perhaps we have! But did not Nietzsche say ‘I teach you the overman. Man is something to be overcome. What have you done to overcome him?’

Should man be overcome? Here is where I lay my gauntlet. No. Man has not taught himself enough to be overcome. What is man but a floating body of molecules and ideas, yes, grasping onto straws? Great emotional immaturity and, dare I say, indifference creeps wild throughout contemporary culture. We are a people increasingly depended on large scale diversions i.e. television, movies, etc. to bring emotional calm and clarity to emotions. There are too many theories abound on the idea that many a person lives emotions discovered in film, or express emotion through a song lyric because they can not engender it themselves. Should we be moving on the human race right once we’ve lost the idea of what it is to be human (if in fact we’ve ever known; cue next debate)?

Some of these things are happening now. We already have external devices which make us smarter (PDA’s with internet access), bionic parts which make the handicapped whole (such as arms with electronic leads) and yes, indeed they are helpful. I am not doubting or debating this. But evolution at the scale many leading Post-human thinkers are debating would require a great leap in human empathy and maturity, which doesn’t look likely to happen on the morrow.

Why do I go on about emotions when we talk about physical improvement and possible mental expansion? How would we handle such new powers without the emotional clarity to use them with respect and good intentions? Would we automatically gain the maturity to use them wisely with a mere 10 point boost in IQ? Would we really be able to trust ourselves with possible Godlike power when we have a fraction of that now and we can’t seem to hold it together? These are not rhetorical questions, but rather questions with one answer. No. No again and again.

This is where the experiment begins. The web is a marvelous tool and could potentially be a great forum for debate and critical argument. I believe the manifesto of Head Press is to challenge the reader to rethink and question their world and environment. This is what I’d like to do here in this space. I have included an e-mail address where you, dear brothers and sisters, may write to your dearest of narrators with questions, answers, critiques, etc. The desirable outcome of this being that you can present your thoughts on the issues, which I will critique, agree upon, and/or present out of interest as I see fit, in the style of an Oxford debate. We are looking to the Greek Dialogues as inspiration here; a greater understanding through criticism and the flagrant over use of English vernacular.

Sample questions you may want to ask yourselves:

What are the main arguments for or against the application of science to transcend the human definition? What are the social implications of such practices? Would the spirit of our current race continue in the upgraded human? Or would these qualities burn away? Would we gain autonomy as Post-Humans or would we become increasingly subjugated and watered down as a people, and if so, is that a particularly bad thing?

Feel free to answer these, or pose your own question which I will endeavor to answer as lucidly as possible. We will return to the subject of the Post-Human next issue.

I also hope that all of you will go out and do a bit of research yourself as this article is merely a beginning, and not an academic treatise. I will cover more information, and give names of some of the more prominent thinkers next issue.

Bring on the intellectual heat.

horatiotigre@googlemail.com

- by Horatio Tigre

Mu-sic: negative space in Japanese electroacoustics

Nobuyuki Tsugata has a theory about Japanese animation. It concerns the main difference between American and Japanese animation styles. The American style, that style pioneered by Disney, relies on a process known as ‘continuous motion’. It’s fairly simple to understand, it’s actually all in the name: it is a style whereby there is constant movement on screen. In contrast the Japanese style veers away from this concept with the focus placed on very little movement and still frames where motion may occur only in one section. Obviously these styles vary enormously and hence they have produced very different canons of work. However despite the more pragmatic factors, such as cost and the amount of work involved, Tsugata believes there is a deeper reason behind the conservation of movement and the use of space in Japanese animation.

Tsugata believes that it is a reference to, and hence a contemporary use of, the Japanese notion of Mu. Mu is the idea of ‘negative space’; it is an ambiguous term which is hard to translate but you might describe it as “space where other things are not present”. This idea is derived from Chinese and Japanese Zen brush paintings, typically of landscapes, where some detail may be portrayed but the space above, below or around it is empty. Whereas this may be perceived as blank canvas it can also be interpreted as ‘negative space’. Space in which there may be air, wind, sound, smell, something visually unrepresentable but most importantly undefined. This ‘negative space’ therefore is just as crucial to the understanding of a work as anything that is illustrated. It adds texture, depth and extra sensory dimensions which are ambiguous enough to be filled by any interpretation.

So this then is the central concept of Mu. Naturally enough this idea of negative space, has cropped up in several different cultures in various ways over the centuries, however it is its use in modern Japanese electroacoustic composition that proves it is a fascinatingly malleable traditional technique. Although it may or may not be evident to composers such as Yuichiro Fujimoto, Akira Kosemura, Motohiro Nakashima and Daisuke Miyatani, to name a few, their explorations in electroacoustic sound incorporate a facet of enduring Japanese art: the use of negative space.

What then do we mean when we talk about negative space in terms of aural rather than visual representation? Well despite the confines of text let us attempt to create an impression through description. Let us take for example Yuichiro Fujimoto’s ‘Drawing of Stars’ from his 2005 release Kinoe. It begins with a single chord, on keyboard, which is repeated metronomically. It is a constant. Gradually it becomes lazily punctuated by a sweet melody drummed out on acoustic guitar. This motif is cut up, and spliced in, in different forms and segments, not building, rising or falling, just playfully existing. A few glittering harmonics shine among these sounds. While the keys continue to pulse, the guitar deteriorates into muted scratching noise, until once again the melody returns before trailing off with the small death of the synthesized chord.

This then is a piece of electroacoustic composition. It may sound odd on paper; it certainly isn’t any less strange when heard. However if played solely as described above it would probably be interesting, maybe challenging, but certainly not great. There is however an element to the piece which was not revealed, and that is Fujimoto’s use of negative space. Throughout the track there is an organic static, maybe the sound of a microphone left on in an empty room, maybe the recorded sound of wind, gushing water or rain outside a window. Towards the end of the track it veers closer to white noise, the sound of someone pottering around and a plastic rattle disrupt the slight hypnosis that was created. What does this pervasive empty sound signify? What does it symbolize? It certainly isn’t the blank perfect silence of the mastered studio album. It is the deliberate use of empty space, negative space, to highlight aurally indefinable aspects of the work; maybe a certain time, place or feeling. Most importantly though, it allows the listener to interpret all the other aural information they are presented with as they see fit. It injects an ambiguity into the track that emphasizes its musicality while simultaneously drawing attention to the empty canvas beyond.

Mu therefore has been identified in this music. It is used masterfully by Fujimoto on Kinoe and his peers make effective use of it in their own unique ways. Just like contemporary animation, contemporary composition therefore is just as inflected with traditional Japanese artistic concepts, and it would probably not be too much of a stretch to locate them in different mediums. Nonetheless in Japan there is being created a great wealth electroacoustic works that should not pass you by.

Some of the best:

Akira Kosemura – It’s On Everything

Daisuke Miyatani - Diario

Motohiro Nakashima – The Sandhill

Tenniscoats – Totemo Aimasho

Yuichiro Fujimoto – Kinoe

- Paul Bond

The World Is Nigh

You are too slow; you should have read this by now.
This should be over; you should be onto the next thing.
Don't let your brain settle on this, it could be dangerous.
It's a beautiful day. But don't sit around.
I'm tired. Last night was difficult. Last night was strange.
I consider myself a people person. When I'm alone.
How come we all run for the train and stand still on the escalator.
It really is a beautiful day. The sky is blue.
We always say that. But it's a blue I've never seen before,
A new blue. A blue never seen before.
No one would notice!

Goodnight dear.
Goodnight.

- Dr. Fieldmouse

Performance Architecture and Architectural Performances

Space, in both an architectural and performance setting, is a key consideration. The space must have a functionality, a sense of composition and a liveness that transcends its stasis (assuming, that is, that constructed space has a static existence, a notion to be challenged). In theatre we have starting talking about the space as another character, another ‘body’ to be read and understood. Spaces are often ‘animated’ by human presence – humans provide a context, a function to a space. This does not, however, mean that a space cannot live alone – a space that is flexible, organic, that finds the right mix of purpose and openness. It is in discovering (or uncovering) the purpose of space in contemporary human interactions that performance and architecture find their strongest link.

Performance has become a class of theoretical understanding, often uncomfortably placed under the ‘theatre studies’ rubric. Performance theory deals primarily with constructions. As humans we construct our identity in the clothes we wear, the way we hold ourselves, the words we choose to use, the style of our hair, the subjects we interest ourselves with and so on. Race, sexual orientation, gender – these are all considered constructions, imposed either by ourselves or by society. This does not make them fake (or any more fake than anything else) it just recognises that they are more to do with a series of social interactions than they are to do with any internal, eternal ‘truth’. In essence, every action, every interaction we undertake as humans comes from a series of strategies we have learned throughout our lives to best cope and thrive within society. We present ourselves through identifying actions and accompaniments. These actions and accompaniments become so familiar to us that the sense of ‘performance’ is replaced with a sense of ‘being’ – I would say I am male, I am straight, I am Irish, rather than I act male, I act straight, I act Irish. The ‘truth’ is probably somewhere in the middle – or rather those identifying actions have become so essential to my being, that they are unrecognisable.

Architecture fascinates me as it deals directly with how people interact with one another. Architecture must consider, as it seems from the uninitiated view, how and why people combine and connect in the way they do, how this changes and how it can be made more effectual. Thus architects are in a unique position – both responding to and leading innovations in human relations, thereby somehow having a hand in adjusting and moulding society. Perhaps on some level theatre makers attempt the same feat – presenting different realities to those who are taken to watch. Perhaps our best attempts can not model utopic visions of society, but exploring possibilities as they differ from those established gives at least a view to a change, opening up the knot of accepted reality to reveal potentialities not yet discovered. We both hold the mirror to the world around us – the mirror is a reflection to what we see, inevitably skewered and subjective, but as genuine and as honest as we can manage.

Theatre, in the more formal region of ‘performance’, is also to do with human interactions. Whether dealing with Greek epics, Stanislavskian naturalism, kitchen sink realism, modernist absurdism, post-modern deconstructionism or phenomenological explorations through movement if there is one constant it is that there is a relation between humans (even in monologue pieces, or ‘one-handers’ the absence of another human body establishes a relation to other humans, on the most basic structural level). When considering the construction of a theatre space we must think of proxemics – in what spatial relationship will the performers be to the audience, can the ‘stage’ space ever be ‘balanced’, will the audience be made to be aware of one another through interrupted sightlines or close proximity, do you want all of the audience to see all of the action all of the time?

Further, we can start to think of the space itself as some sort of additional performer – can a space be flexible enough to change during a performance (one imagines an external wall starting to contract, making a square space a triangular one…), can it change its texture and nature, its atmosphere, its meaning? In theatre we look to change the nature of a neutral space for our own purposes – adding lighting, sounds, set and costume (as well as, of course, performers) to a space that in it self ‘says’ nothing to create the effect we want. On the other hand you have ‘site-specific’ work that takes a space (usually non-theatrical) which has a character, a history, that is a filled canvas, and transpose live action on to it. In either sense the space is static – it provides the backdrop, it can be plastered over or used, but in itself is not organic or changeable.

Moving toward a theatre space that facilitates adjustability, an organic flexibility that allows the space to shift throughout a performance, changing the sense of proximity, sight-lines, status relationships between characters opens a whole new set of possibilities for theatre makers that has yet, in my knowledge, to be explored. Thus, as space makers and space users we empower ourselves with new potential realities.

- Neil Keating

How the West was Won

We break and we break in an incessant flow of thoughts. Crumble by day, crawl back by night and fight the plight of invisible men. We’re often inclined to borrow somebody’s dream till tomorrow and wear looking glass ties. We strike a blow for freedom every now and then. I hate it but I love it. I hate it but I love it. I hate it but I love it. I’m loving it. Now get on your knees and bark like a dog. ABSOLUT NOTHINGNESS. Hello, HAL do you read me, HAL? My instructor was Mr. Langley, and he taught me to sing a song. A point to ponder? Make individuality history! At home we’re all tourists. Concerned but powerless. We don’t cry in public (although occasionally in good movies) but still kiss with saliva. Choose life. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Be excited, be, be excited! We got a winner! Juice by Sara! Juice by Sara! No point mentioning the bats. We are all wired into a survival trip now. Girlfriend in a coma, I know, it’s serious. It brings out idleness. And the importance of being idle. We never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody… or at least some force is tending the light at the end of the tunnel. But we’re sick enough to be totally confident. The deflated life style is our couch. And it’s only three bucks a hit. Or it used to be anyway. Don’t drink all the coke! And don’t leave home without it! Gillette Razor Blades prevent the perpetuation of the species. I cut. You cut. He cuts. In a thousand years, there will be no men and women, just wankers, and that's fine by me. Because I’m worth it. And because my blood can sing. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of. Mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for faeces and one for vomit. One television and one bottle of Valium. Living like this is a full time business. See how they smile like pigs in sty? I hate it but I love it. I hate it but I love it. What if a dawn of doom of a dream bites the universe in two? Doesn’t matter. People with handguns are fun. Almost worth a grin. Keep walking. All the phoneys are doing it. Just do it. Ignorance is strength. Fitter happier. O Grave New World! Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun, Kiss the girls and make them One. Boys at one with girls at peace; Orgy-porgy gives release. Not everything is puddle-wonderful and it’s all a matter of cause and effect. The antidote for civilization still lurks around, watching for pigs on the wing. Apocalypse Now! And trust me, when the moment comes, it will be a Kodak moment.

- Mariana R.

A Space for Thought

- by Dan Marsden

From the underside of the inside

I asked a friend once why she was a socialist and was pretty unimpressed with the answer ‘well my family has always been working class,’ when it wasn’t backed up by an explanation of how this affected her life philosophy. (She was a strange girl who thought re-distributing the wealth was stealing the tips from the counter in Café Nero). However, even though she was just subscribing to a value system to define her identity, since starting work from the underside of the inside of the ‘haves’ I understand why socialism is so much easier to understand from the perspective of the ‘have nots’.

I am a domestic servant. (I also, in some ways, have a very cushy job). I am an aupair. Since July I’ve thought a lot about whether I would ever personally employ someone to do what I do, and by way of answer, my all too passive socialism has reared its head once more.

My objection isn’t to any of the things I have to do, but to needing extra people to help with the simple living of your life, because you have chosen for it to be bigger and better and richer and contain more things that need polishing.

‘Look Anna, I’ve weed on the floor,’ says the six year old I look after.
‘Clean it up then with some toilet paper please’
‘But you’re my aupair’

My fundamental problem is that the children I take care of are growing up used having someone to wait on them.

It was going to the hospital that did it. Last week, a baby was born in the family I work for, and we all wrapped up warm and went off to visit Mum in the private clinic. It was like a hotel; I am not joking. All the patients had private suites, with televisions and balconies. There were fruit baskets in all the waiting areas. All this isn’t too awful, and I know there is always the argument that they earned the money and can do what they want with it, but looking at the kids racing excitedly through the corridors and going to the nurses to ask for ‘yogurt please, and a spoon,’ I realised that this would all seem completely normal to them; that in their six and three year old minds, all babies will be born in hospitals that are not only clean and comfortable but with individual en-suite bathrooms and restaurant quality meals. (And I’m not comparing it with the third world or anything; take my advice and never get ill in Wakefield, the NHS hospital there is like something out of a documentary about how awful hospitals are in the former soviet union).

A few days ago the dad brought home something that I thought was a giant wedding cake, as I spied it from the other end of the room over my game of This Little Piggy. On closer examination I realised it was a giant arrangement of nappies from the hospital, wrapped in ribbons and the kind of cellophane florists use. I thought it was completely ridiculous.

For three weeks I walked through the centre of town every morning to attend my German course at Graz University. Right in the middle, where Elizebethstrasse intersects Merangasse, there is a big fancy glass fronted furniture shop, where big fancy people go to buy big fancy kitchens and chairs. Sure, I’ve been to Ikea and gone in the little pretend houses and thought how nice it would be to have a load of stuff, or moreover how nice it would be to have the kind of life all those possessions would symbolise. People want to express themselves through what they own and people want security, but as I saw the smart couples earnestly discussing whether to have this thousands of euros worth of surfaces and appliances or the other thousands of euros worth of surfaces and appliances. I felt angry.

I wanted to break the windows and scream at them, ‘None of this is important!’
I think it was seeing how serious they were about it all that awakened this dormant rage; They were all so serious in their leather boots (very fashionable right now in Austria) which were also no doubt very expensive.

In the German film The Edukators a group of anarchists break into posh houses but don’t steal anything. They just re-arrange the furniture, putting all the ornamental swans in the fridge for example, and leave the message on the walls ‘Die Fatten Jahre Sind Vorbei’ (The original title of the film; ‘the years of plenty are over’) or ‘Sie haben zu viel Geld’ (‘You have too much money’). I was put in mind of this last Saturday. The children’s 22 year old brother drove us out to a birthday party in the suburbs of Graz. (With him and me in the front of the car in with a three and six year old in the back we probably looked like teenage parents who’d miraculously made good). I was balancing an incredibly heavy cake, the shape of half a globe with the countries drawn in beautiful detail in green icing on a blue icing sea, on my legs and experiencing the familiar ‘how on earth is this my life’ feeling I’ve had repeatedly since stepping into another family’s world four months ago, when we drew up at this massive house. The film started flashing through my mind, and I couldn’t help planning how I would move everything around if I only had the guts to break in.

What I was struck by once again, was the way that the kids all tearing around playing party games (which I had to encourage my charges to join in with because they were so distracted by the miniature car you could drive around in like a real one), would think of this as normal. They were lovely polite children, but looking at the other aupairs hovering round, the housekeeper in the kitchen, and the house covered from top to bottom in white shag-pile, I doubt any of them will ever relate to giving according to one’s ability and receiving according one’s needs . How can you learn to take responsibility for yourself when someone’s job (and in the eyes of a child, someone’s whole reason for existing no doubt) is to do that for you, for your boredom, for your desire for snacks in parts of the house far from the kitchen. When you realize that not everyone has these privileges, which if you have grown up with them must seem like rights, how do you not surmise that you simply must be better and your needs more important?

I don’t resent my job. I can make rounds and rounds of mayonnaise and ketchup on toast and clean diarrhea out of Disney princess knickers with a smile on my face (no honestly), but I worry about what my position in the family is teaching these children.

- Anna Beecher

True Colours

Having lived in Dublin my entire life I have always considered it to be a predominantly grey place. In my minds eye I can see grey oppressive skies full of grey puddles in waiting. I can see grey, imperial georgian buildings and grey, squat, soviet-esque office buildings from the 1960’s. The land of grey summers and more intensely grey winters.

Contrary to this I always considered the countryside to be a place of neon-vibrant, lushous greens, of blue seas, of black and white cows and, of course, a place of red tractors. The post card image, as the mother of a friend of mine put it: the colours of ‘paddy-whackery’ colours with shades that have all the subtlety of our tricoloured flag.

To my grave embarrassment, I know very little about Art and less still about Irish Art so I am by no means an authority but my impression of Irish decorative art, at least, the type I see in the hallways of my apartment building or that you might expect to see in the room at your B&B is that it reflects this. Bright red boats with fishermen folding nets on yellow sand and the green hills rolling ad infinitum into the crayola blue skies. Although my knowledge of painting is limited I do know a little of Irish cinema and anything I have encountered as of this time has either reflected my idea of a grey city and of the post card painted countryside.

That said, on a recent trip to Wexford, looking out on the seascape to my left and the land to my right I was shaken to attention by the hue of the sea and colours in the landscape I had never associated with Ireland before. The sea was full of what seemed wise stoney blue shimmers, the rocks between Greystones and Wicklow were hard carbon grey and jagged like monstrous unpolished crystals. In the country side the deep umber oranges in rusted railings and the wet, mossy greens in the grass seemed much richer than I had previously imagined. The aspect of the place seemed to bely a maturity and a wealth of epic, sage emotion. It seemed as though beneath or withstanding the ‘paddy-whackery’ existed a real place which exists through the ages and into time immemorial.

The experience here brought back to me many of the poems I had learned verbatim in school which now reside in my mind only as the whisps of sentiments they left with me. I now sensed what Seamus Heaney meant when he spoke of the bogs and how they connected us with our ancestry. I knew why the ‘Tollund Man’ had affected him so intimately and why the ‘Bogland’ was such a powerful place and made such a perfect metaphor.

These sentiments struck me again when I visited the Office of Public Works on St. Stephen’s Green on a whim. In the entrance foyer there are sheets of stone set into the walls from different areas of the country. Each has its own striking and unique texture, make up and colour. Some are ebony black punctuated by the primordial white shells fossilized within them which give them the quality of a clear night sky. One particular example from Connemara has shades of greens which gives it the aspect of being almost liquid and the impression that if you reached your arm out to touch it you could quite easily plunge straight into it.

It seemed a subject which was so ripe for exploration in a modern context against our New Ireland that I was at a loss as to why no one, as far as I knew, had broached it. This is the very reason why I was so stunned and moved when Leonard Abraham and Mark O’Halloran’s new film ‘Garage’ was released shortly after this. Mark O’Halloran’s powerful script viscerally captures a man, ‘Josie’, living in the abyssal margin of society, politely shuffled aside and left alone. This poignant portrayal is only strengthened further by Leonard Abraham’s keen investigation and apt depiction of the true colour scheme of Josie’s surroundings.

Just like the colours I had experienced, Abraham had astutely rendered them on screen, although he used more muted tones than I had invisaged which better suited the drama of the story. This was coupled with an ingenious art direction which held all the shots together by creating a composition of tones and shades of similar colours throughout. At Josie’s garage we saw the rusted reddy-browns in the paint work, in the signage and in the pipes. While he walked we saw the sombre greens in the trees and fields. Throughout the film water is a hugely important element and here we saw gun metal blue stillness of the lake and the darkness and forboding infinity of the deep waters against the blue-grey sky. This truly evocative and well crafted use of the colours at the locations fascinated me and with this in mind and feeling as though I had for the first time really seen the landscape or at least really reacted to it I felt compelled to make a similar effort to reassess how I had seen Dublin up until this point.

I took it upon myself to walk home from the city center and to search for some interesting and telling colours of an urban Ireland beyond the grey-scale or the vibrant colours of foreign franchises. I wanted to see colours which would tell me something about both the modern city and hopefully something which would link it with its history. I was hoping to discover colours or compositions of colour which would speak of Dublin and not merely of urban.

Strolling around, presumably looking like a mad man I must admit, inspecting the buildings I had considered all to be grey, I was stricken by the shades of colour in the brick work. The stone work in some of the Georgian buildings seems to have a soft skin-tone like complexion about it I had never noticed before. The vivid turquoise of the copper roofed churches sprang out at me, particularly that of the great domed church in Rathmines. Yet these colours as striking as they are do not speak specifically of Dublin, I imagine that similar colours exist in London or elsewhere. So the search goes on.

With this in mind I fell back to consult with some of the past masters of this exercise. I went to O’Connell bridge to see the colours in the Liffey, I could distinctly make out the colours that Jack B. Yeats’ had seen there and rendered. Although in these dimmer months the colours seemed more muted than he had invisaged. I wondered if even in the right light the colours that Yeats had seen were representative of the Dublin I know.

This led me to consider Kavanagh as I went to stroll along the Grand Canal which runs nearby my home. I walked for a spell to listen to the locks ‘niagarously’ roaring and to find the ‘stilly greeny’ water alongside which Kavanagh wished to be and is commemorated by. The sounds which I wanted to find as dramatic and lyrical as Kavanagh had were somewhat swamped by the now constant deadlock of traffic idling at the lights on their way into the city centre. Luckily the colours could not be affected by any noise. The waters still have the same stillness and deep mossy green colours I suspect Kavanagh must have seen. They are marred a little by the floating milkshake cartons and tesco bags but none the less these colours are there and they are beautiful.

The trees in these autumnal months in the city’s greens and along its lusher streets were honestly quite arresting. They did not simply take on the dried brown colour I had assumed they would, and may still later in the month, but a spectrum of shades encapsulating lemony yellows, lime greens and rich, velvet reds. Though with slight dismay I realised that many of these trees, and I should note I am not a botanist, particularly in gardens seemed to be of foreign ancestry. Many of the more lively colours came from trees I am convinced were oriental in origin.

I was adament and confident that the city would spring forth colours which were uniquely her own and although it now seemed obvious that I had been doing the city a disservice by considering it to be so dull a place I had still seen nothing which really made me feel was authenticly indigenous. I was at first a little dissappointed that I couldn’t distinguish a lot which was uniquely of the fair city. I took this as a failure either on my part or perhaps more seriously as a failing of the city itself.

I was disillisioned until I considered how in a way the colours and their origins actually reflect perfectly on what Dublin is, it is a city of its people and a city of its history, to my eye the colours reflect this. As hackneyed as it is to say and no one was more surprised than me that I came to this conclusion, Dublin is now a city which is to some extent – and more so every day – multi-cultural.

This is evidenced by the restaurants we eat in, the languages on our adverts, the faces on our streets and as I dicovered, by the colours in our surroundings. As well as this it is a city with a colonial past still just within living memory and it has been home to a diverse range of societies, civilisations and cultures for millenia. If we see our man-made capital like this then surely we should accept that the colours will reflect that history and as far as I could see they do, and beautifully so.

I hope that soon we see this cornucopia of colours reflected, as Lenny Abrahamson showed us is possible, in many more artistic endeavours, cinematic or otherwise.

- Brian P Fortune