A Journey Within A Journey

Now that my residency, co-hosted by Word and Image Department and Paper Conservation, has come to an end, I wanted to write one last entry.

The experience has been an extraordinary one, not least in terms of the generosity that Curators in WID and conservators in Paper Conservation have shown in sharing their time and expertise. I have been led into stores rooms holding miniature stage sets, Indian hand painted flower albums, daguerreotypes, wardrobes of 16th Century gowns, intricate lace patterns from Venice and kimono stencils from Japan. The list could go on and on. Indeed at times, the sheer volume of remarkable material held by the museum has been overwhelming.

After several months of exploring hundreds of objects, I began to make connections between some of these objects and particular on-going concerns in my work - ephemeral items, often on paper or vellum, which were intended to be handled and that somehow seemed to communicate a state of flux, being of particular interest. A focus for this selection was further provided by the production the two bodies of work “Gaze” and “Of Dust” and the publications that accompanied their exhibition.

Fragment No. 1, 2005. Collage, graphite and pen and ink. Museum no. E.2569-2007

At present the gallery in which “Gaze” was installed in 2007, is showing another of my drawings - this time as a part of a collection of works acquired by the museum in 2007, “Forty Artists - Forty Drawings.” The Northern Print Biennale opens next month and will include three works from “Of Dust”, whilst one of the first works that I made in response to the V&A’s 19th Century Parkes Collection of Japanese papers, “Thinking about Touching,” can currently be seen at Trinity Contemporary, London, in an exhibition of 34 artists “In Between the Lines - Recent British Drawing”.

Installation shot of “Forty Artists - Forty Drawings”

Over a year ago, in the posting “The Temporary Refuge - Again”, I wrote about a book that I’d been searching for amongst the thousands held by the V&A, entitled “The True and Perfect Description of Three Voyages”. The book is a diary, written by a member of an ill-fated 16th century Dutch expedition attempting to find a way to China via the North East Passage. It describes how the crew members lived from day to day, the extreme conditions that they endured and how they built a refuge in which they overwintered for nine months in the Russian Arctic.

It was through conversations in the Paper Conservation Studio, that I first learned of the diary - and of the stacks of prints that had been abandoned by the explorers. These stacks were transformed into frozen papier-mâché blocks and remained undiscovered for three hundred years. The Conservation studio at the Rijksmuseum developed ways, through advances in science and conservation, to separate the layers of the prints and reconstruct the thousands of fragments. The prints are now held in the Rijksmuseum stores.

I am planning to develop a project in response to this extraordinary story and the Rijksmuseum will stage an exhibition of new works that result from the project in 2011. As it unfolds, documentation can be found on the following websites from 2010:

• www.rijksmuseum.nl
• www.sianbowen.com
• www.northumbria.ac.uk

Guest posting by Frances Rankine, Curator, Word & Image Department

‘I was fortunate enough to be in the Daiwa Foundation gallery on my own when I went to see Sian’s exhibition for a second time. The objects were hung in a lovely sunny room and it added to the wonderful sense of stillness and quiet that the images bring to me.

When I sat down to write my contribution to Sian’s blog I was re-reading Tim Travis’ essay in the exhibition publication ‘Of Dust’. Up until then I had puzzled over something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on with the images and then I saw the words ‘submarine twilight’ and it came to me that the images of the tea house models are like submerged, underwater buildings. The images strike me as being very quiet and mysterious, rather distant, abandoned spaces frozen in time.  Sian’s use of the lacquered surface and the process of dusting the image with pure silver or gold powder to bring out the image on the paper seems to me to contribute to this effect of depth and ‘wateriness’. Although the process is very two dimensional it has produced this very deep, three dimensional effect. I get a real sense of looking down, and rather than the images registering as small and intimate, they produce almost the opposite effect on me – I experience them rather as something large being seen from afar – they have a kind of monumental quality that is disorientating. They also have an ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’ effect which gives you the impression that you could dive into the pieces and be in a very different and safe place, which takes me back to the idea of ‘sanctuary’ as a place of safety and refuge, a place which is enclosing and protective. The mirror effect the lacquer produces also harks back to Sian’s preoccupation in her exhibition ‘Gaze’ with reflections and the sense of distancing but at the same time beckoning. There is feeling that one wants to be drawn into the spaces but the mirror-like surface keeps one at a distance.’

Below are some of the works resulting from the second phase of my residency and which are currently on show at the Daiwa Foundation, London.

Of Dust: No 9, 2008. Powdered gold, black Japanese lacquer on paper, 17 x 24 cm

Of Dust: No 10, 2008. Powdered gold, black Japanese lacquer on paper, 16 x 24 cm

Of Dust: No.11, 2008. Powdered gold, black Japanese lacquer on paper, 19.5 x 27.5 cm

Of Dust: No 13, 2008. Powdered palladium on paper, 14.5 x 21.5 cm

Of Dust: No.14, 2008. Powdered palladium on paper, 14.5 x 21.5 cm

Of Dust: No 8, 2008. Powdered silver, black Japanese lacquer on paper, 16.5 x 23.5 cm

Of Dust: No 3, 2008. Powdered silver, raw japanese lacquer on paper, 17 x 24.5 cm

Of Dust: No 2, 2008. Mica, black Japanese lacquer on vellum, 17 x 24 cm

Works from the second phase of my residency opened recently at the Daiwa Foundation, London – the exhibition entitled, “Of Dust”, comprised small-scale pieces which both draw together threads of ideas and experiment with processes which have been touched on in my previous postings. Images of the “Okoshi-ezu”, or folding teahouse designs, were transposed onto lacquered papers using different photographic and print processes. In the accompanying publication of the same title, V&A curator (Print), Tim Travis writes… “Bowen’s principal medium is drawing and the next (final) stage of the process brought her back full circle to the primary act of mark-making by touch – but with refinement. The surfaces are dusted with powdered gold, silver, mica or pigment which was then carefully and gradually brushed away and burnished to varying degrees. Dull when first applied, the powders brightened as they were caressed by the same soft brushes which were also gently removing them to reveal images made up of the residue. The process recalls the mysterious way that a photograph materialises in a tray of fluid in a darkened room as the result of invisible chemical reactions or a new atoll slowly breaks the ocean surface after centuries of unseen industry by coral insects in conditions of submarine twilight.”

The publication, “Of Dust,” which includes the full text of Tim Travis’s essay is available from Northern Print (enquiry@northernprint.org.uk).

“Of Dust”, the Daiwa Foundation, London, September 2008

“Of Dust”, the Daiwa Foundation, London, September 2008

“Of Dust”, the Daiwa Foundation, London, September 2008

“Of Dust”, the Daiwa Foundation, London, September 2008

I first heard about “okoshi-ezu” when I visited an elderly book-seller close to the Heian Shrine in Kyoto. That was over three years ago now when I was making a large-scale installation, “Shift”, based on an 18^th century folding paper teahouse. The book-seller told me that once he had seen a series of volumes which contained folding models of teahouses - something between origami and popup models and difficult to find. Dating from the Edo Period, they were used as architectural designs. Since then I have been searching to find these forms of temporary refuge in miniature – a re-enactment on a different scale of the folding teahouses written about in previous postings – this provided another focus for my recent visit to Japan.

Assembling okoshi-ezu, Japan, 2008 - click on thumbnails for larger versions.

It took a long time – emails back and forth from Hitoko Suzuki (the translator of W. G. Sebald’s novels into Japanese), the V&A’s Far Eastern Department, Hiroko Oshima at Northumbria University, Dr. Masamistu Inaba at Tokyo University of Fine Art, staff at both Tokyo National Museum and Kyoto Archives. I am grateful for all their help and advice which eventually enabled me to see and photograph both original 19^th century okoshi-ezu and more recent replicas of these originals. They were folded and unfolded by staff of the special stores of Tokyo National Museum as I photographed and videoed the process. In Kyoto I spent several days exploring the folding techniques of the replicas and later with special permission was able to visit several of the actual teahouses. Tanizaki’s premise, that “there is no beauty without shadows”, was never far from my mind as I entered these tiny interiors.

Teahouse interiors, Kyoto, 2008

Honnen-in Temple, Kyoto – Place of Junichiro Tanizaki’s grave, 2008

Back in Japan again… I stepped into the workshop of one of the country’s most respected lacquer artists, National Living Treasure, Shosai Kitamura. The walls were lined with shelves on which were placed examples of his workmanship. Draped across the length of one wall was a knotted straw garland sent by Ise Shrine - to bless the artist’s current inlaid mother-of-pearl lacquer work. He opened drawers slowly to reveal cut shells. Each drawer held fragments which were carefully graded into differing tones and colours - fragments ready to catch the light once they were further cut into exquisitely fine forms and inlaid into lacquered objects.

Mother of pearl ready to be cut for inlay work on lacquer, Japan, 2008

During the second phase of my residency, I have been exploring threads of Junichiro Tanizaki’s essay on aesthetics, “In Praise of Shadows”. The writer’s claim that lacquer was made to illuminate dark spaces, prompted my visit to Japan – I felt very fortunate to be able to meet Shosai Kitamura. He discussed at length a number of topics – traditional versus contemporary practice, shifts in aesthetic understanding, the authorship of the artist.

Mother of pearl for inlay work - click on thumbnails for larger versions.

I was particularly interested to hear his thoughts on Tanizaki’s reference to lacquer and light – In response, he felt that the fact that the essay was written in the 1930’s and therefore before the war, was very relevant. The writer had not yet experienced the restrictions of the blackout. After these restrictions were lifted, people moved away from the shadow and darkness celebrated by Tanizaki and flooded their homes with as much light as possible.

For the younger generation who did not experience this era, things are perhaps being seen differently again – older interiors with light diffused softly through paper sliding paper screens and deep, dark alcoves are now being used for viewing both contemporary and traditional works of art. I was able to understand this approach more clearly when I visited the solo exhibition of contemporary lacquer artist, Natsuki Kurimoto, which was staged in a very old and elegant Kyoto former residence.

Exhibition of contemporary lacquer in Kyoto former residence, 2008

A translucent material - but innumerable layers create a surface of seemingly impenetrable darkness.

The tiniest speck on the skin capable of causing violent physical reactions - yet of extreme beauty.

Images are ‘trapped” between layers – like forms in amber, prints in ice.

Used to illuminate dark spaces - damaged by the brightness of natural light.

Hardens not by drying - but by placing in a warm, humid environment - like the moist darkness of the tree from which it is taken.

Dusted with metal powder - the last layers applied in the dust-free environment of a boat rowed to the centre of a lake.

Used for over six thousand years - long after it is taken from the tree, continues to “heal” itself when scratched.

Ingested by some of those working with it in an attempt an attempt to gain immunity and form a special bond with it.

Click on the images below for larger versions.

The stacks of Renaissance prints that were held in the Arctic ice for three hundred years (see previous posting), led me to think about the possibility of using of Japanese lacquer (urushi) as a medium for new drawings. This was for a number of reasons -

At about the time that the attempt was being made to carry the prints to the Far East, cultural artefacts in the form of export lacquer were being brought from Japan to Europe. With the exchange of such objects, came the beginning of an ongoing dialogue on aesthetics between the East and the West.

It has been suggested that Japanese craftsmen of the past understood that their black lacquer with gold ornamentation should be seen in dark spaces. (Ironically, lacquer objects are actually damaged by too much light, despite their highly reflective nature.) The idea that a light source might be radically reduced in order to fully understand the aesthetics of an object, is intriguing both in terms of the installation and viewing of contemporary drawing. The prints, on the other hand, had been subjected to extreme lighting conditions – held in the translucent ice through numerous Polar winters and summers. With these ideas in mind, I plan to travel to Kyoto later this month in order to see lacquer objects and architectural features within the spatial context of temples and rural farmhouses.

Piles of single sheets of the prints that were held in the frozen environment of the Arctic gradually turned to papier maché blocks over time. So too is Japanese lacquer transformed by a moist environment, albeit a humid rather than a frozen one. Only in a moist and warm environment, can lacquer harden. Numerous dark, translucent layers are applied - the drawn images are “trapped” between layers at late stages of production.  This again echoes the way in which the images of the prints were “trapped” as they lay, one on top of another, bound in ice. The polarity of light and dark, has been a recurring theme in my work - and is implied by the whiteness of the ice, the extreme depth of the darkness of lacquer.

The V&A holds some of the world’s finest examples of Japanese export lacquer. Currently a major conservation project on one of these objects, the Mazarin Chest, is underway. Last month I was fortunate enough to be able to work in the museum’s lacquer studio with Shayne Rivers, who is the lead conservator of the project. I was able to experience some of the remarkable qualities of the medium and experiment applying it to a range of supports such as vellum and Japanese handmade paper.

The Mazarin Chest, about 1640. Museum no. 412:1-1882

Amongst the thousands of books and albums held by the V&A, I have discovered that there is one in particular that I have been searching for. “The True and Perfect Description of Three Voyages, so Strange and Wonderful That the Like Hath Never Been Heard of Before,” was written at the end of the 16^th century and relates three attempts by Dutch explorers to reach China via the North East Passage. On the third attempt the author, who had accompanied the voyage, tells of how a temporary refuge was built on a small island in the Russian Arctic - the men struggled to survive for nine months, the first attempt to overwinter in the Arctic by Europeans.

What the writer was not to know was that in the years to follow, the refuge was gradually to fill with ice, encasing all the objects inside for three hundred years. Renaissance Prints intended for the Far Eastern market, clothes, candlesticks, navigational instruments, carpenters’ tools were to be discovered in the late 1800’s as the ice began to melt again. I have been particularly intrigued to learn about the prints through discussions whilst working in the V&A’s Paper Conservation Studio – stacks of them which had turned to papier mache blocks and then were held frozen beneath the ice for all those years.

The writer also tells of how the windows, the door, and the chimney, were gradually blocked up - a dark space with no connection to the frozen wilderness outside was created. The 18^th century Japanese paper teahouse that I mentioned in a previous entry, was designed to create an intimate space in the vast, dark interior of Nishi Honganji Temple, Kyoto. This led to my large-scale installation of drawings, “Shift.” I keep thinking about this other temporary refuge which once existed in the Arctic -and the fragile objects which still remain.

Click on thumbnails for larger versions.

The temporary refuge as a metaphor for the fragility of the human condition. I seem to keep returning to this idea in my work – during the 1990s I explored cocoon and hive forms and, more recently, the 18th century Japanese paper folding teahouses that I have mentioned in previous entries. So an appropriate starting point for the second phase of my residency period seems to be Herbert George Ponting’s photograph “Cavern in an Iceberg” (Museum no. E.1320-2000). Taken in 1910, this was part of a series entitled “Scott’s Last Expedition” and was one of the objects that I selected to be shown alongside my own residency drawings.

I have just revisited the portfolio of Ponting’s stunningly beautiful photographs of Scott’s ill-fated expedition. “Cavern in an Iceberg” seems in a way to talk about two temporary refuges, one as fragile as the other. Ponting had climbed into a hollow in the iceberg in order to take the photograph and later wrote of the extraordinary sensation that he felt partially enclosed in the ice. From one precarious refuge the other was then documented. There is a touch of voyeurism in this as, from within the cavern, Scott’s boat is observed - distant, static and surrounded by frozen ice.

The other images in the portfolio describe an environment which dwarfs the members of the expedition as they cross vast expanses of ice – in the distance frozen forms that resemble towering, uninhabited cities rise up. But it is this last image that I keep returning to. It encapsulates fears that are current today – a world in which hostile environments offer temporary, fragile forms of sanctuary. And in a world constantly in a state of flux, we attempt to create places of refuge in our day-to-day existence.

Hive, 196 x 174 cm, pigment on found paper, Sian Bowen, 1997