It was Blake’s Champagne, Chocolate, and Charity event that got me thinking about the the value of art. In the deep, dark depths of week 5, I found myself incapable of doing any more reading for my upcoming deadline, and instead started working on some postcards for the charity sale. The creativity was a welcome contrast to work (any jokes about geography and colouring in will not be appreciated), and I found myself completely absorbed in the process, which noticeably improved my mood. Hearing similar stories from other postcard makers amongst Blake members, and the fact that the charity we were raising money for was essentially based around art therapy, caused me to do a bit of reading around the topic. So here goes: da factz.


Although the therapeutic value of art has perhaps always been evident, ‘art therapy’ was established in the mid 20th century. Edward Adamson (the ‘father of art therapy’) broke from the norms of therapy by establishing an open art studio that adopted a far freer approach for the therapy of mental patients, who were at the time often excluded from society, living in poor conditions in mental asylums. Adamson exhibited the art from many of his patients in order to challenge the public’s perception of people with mental illnesses, proving their creativity, humanity, and ability to heal and develop.


Since then, the technique has grown and established itself in the therapy community, and is now used in a huge variety of ways, ranging from children suffering from post-traumatic stress (as we have seen with Art Refuge UK), to prison inmates, to cancer patients, to the elderly in old people’s homes. Being non-verbal, art is particularly useful for people who cannot express their problems through more traditional forms of therapy - severe stress or trauma can shut down the part of the brain that deals with language, rendering people unable to talk about their experiences. Doing something creative offers a more visual and tactile approach, which can help the brain ‘open up’ again, and patients may slowly begin to speak again as they create, the conversation with the therapist feeling more natural and relaxed as it takes shape as a narrative of the art the patient is making.


Art can also be a ‘distraction’ from whatever is troubling the patient, sometimes providing an escape from even the worst illnesses, and can build a sense of self worth and personal control that offers stability in what might be an otherwise unstable and stressful life. Studies have even demonstrated art can slow memory loss in Alzheimer patients, as being creative stimulates the brain and keeps it active.


Some of the examples used here are obviously extreme cases of the value of art therapy, but its importance can be seen on smaller scales, even helping the odd stressed Cambridge student! I think everyone needs reminding of the importance of doing something creative now and again, despite being often so busy with other things. “I’m rubbish at art” is no excuse, as it doesn’t have to be a masterpiece, and can be something as small as a doodle (which Georgina has written about before on this blog!). So don’t wait for the next Blake postcard sale to be creative - get away from your desks and get arty. As Picasso once said, “art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life”, and I’m not going to argue with that.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is probably one of the most awe-inspiring storytellers around at the moment. The Nigerian author has written about the Biafran war, life in post-colonial Nigeria and moving to America as a teenager and she has spoken out, amongst other things, about the ‘danger of a single story’. 

She says, “Many stories matter”. Adichie has a way of capturing a complicated truth in a sentence, a phrase, a word. The truth she so pithily encapsulates here is this – when we accept the many stories about a place, a culture, a race, “we regain a kind of paradise”. In other words, we recognise in another, the variety of life that is inherent in humanity. We look beyond that veil of homogeneity that a single story casts upon a people. We regain a kind of paradise.  As a novelist whose magical stories move you across time and space to a world she knows, and writes about, her concern for the single story is perhaps a self-interested ploy to get her books selling. Even so, it is hard to dispute this beautiful truth.

I won’t summarise her talk which can be found here. 

So I too, like her, grew up reading Enid Blyton. I thought that stories had to be about ‘white, blue-eyed’ children in the countryside, drinking root beer and eating bacon sandwiches, whilst playing with their pet dog. Bizarre, considering I neither knew the countryside, lived in a community that disapproved even the mention of  ‘beer’ (be if of a root variety or not), in a country that didn’t eat bacon with a dog population that was, to generalise, stray and rabid. 

Regardless, my single story until I discovered writers like R K Narayan, Mohsin Hamid and Adichie, no less, was a story that I had nothing to do with. These stories of mine remained incomplete because there was nothing I could give to them, nothing to make them my own. I was retelling Enid’s stories, which were magical because they were about her world. She had something to give to her tales of children climbing trees and playing with dogs because they formed some part of her life.

Now, when I long for my childhood home, a town-house in the bustling Chennai in South India, I narrate tales of roof terraces, of flowers showering our garden and picking them before school, of mango trees with branches invading our balcony, of playing cricket on the streets, of power-cuts and singing in the dark. And of goats in auto-rickshaws.

I realise, as I write, this must come as a confirmation of a single story of a South Indian life – a confirmation of a stereotype.
For there is some truth in that single story. That’s how it came to be that single story. And this is why I think Adichie isn’t quite right. It isn’t really about telling many stories; it’s about listening to them. Take any tale, or mine, by way of example: if, when you hear ‘mango’, ‘cricket’, ‘power-cut’, you see a caricature of a country or a culture, the story has failed you. Or rather, you have failed the story. You haven’t listened to the story. You’ve heard what you thought you heard that confirmed what you thought you knew. 

Because, I guess, stories aren’t about how different we all are. They are about how similar we all are. In relating to a character from an entirely different world we recognise the common humanity (as John Finnis would have put it!) that runs through our lives, weaving us together in its golden thread. And that is why I think that many stories may be told, but if what they are saying is misheard or not heard at all, then we run the risk of confirming a stereotype with several stories – almost evidencing that stereotype. A brilliant storyteller, like Adichie, will make even the most begrudging audience realise this commonality by powerfully narrating a single story in a way that forces us to put ourselves in the shoes of her characters. A single story, then, is enough if it urges the listener to see how similar we all are, despite our many indisputable differences. 

The danger of a single story is very real. But the danger of mishearing the many stories is no less potent. 

A lot of these blog entries this term have been about what people did over the summer. Over the last three summers, I was lucky enough to work at an open air theatre in Chester, so my blog is going to be all about my love of the theatre.

The shows we put on were ‘As You Like It’, ‘Twelfth Night’, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and ‘Othello’ (by Shakespeare); ‘Masters Are You Mad?’ and ‘Merlin and the Woods of Time’ (by Glyn Maxwell); and ‘Cyrano de Bergerac’ (by Edmond Rostand, adapted by Glyn Maxwell). As each season was at least eight weeks long with eight shows a week, I got to know these plays very well. Here are two clips of my favourite speeches: 
Jacques’ ‘All the World’s a Stage’ from a Digital Theatre production of 'As You Like It', and a short clip of Ed Harrison’s Cyrano, ‘my’ Cyrano, from this summer:

Of course, many plays have been adapted into more accessible films, like ‘She’s the Man’, loosely based on Twelfth Night and starring Amanda Bynes; and ‘Roxanne’,  starring Steve Martin, based on Cyrano. Here is a clip of Steve reciting a modern version of Cyrano’s nose speech:  

I love the theatre. There is something truly magical about watching a play or a musical live in front of you, mere metres away from the actors. Every show is different. For that one performance, every audience member is part of the magic, feeling as if the actor is talking directly to them.  I hope lots of you have been to the National Theatre at some point, or perhaps you’ve seen one of the National Theatre Live broadcasts at your local cinema. Recent productions have included Frankenstein, the History Boys, War Horse and Othello. Frankenstein, directed by Danny Boyle, starred Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller as both Dr Frankenstein and the Monster alternately. This was a radical new way of getting real depth to both of the characters, as each actor knew the other’s part so well. The History Boys, which launched the careers of Dominic Cooper, Russell Tovey and James Cordon, which was later made into a film with the original cast, but it did begin on the stage. War Horse, based on the book by Michael Morpurgo, has broken box office records for its huge popularity. The use of puppets as the horses on stage is absolutely mesmerising. In my opinion, the film version, directed by Spielberg, didn’t invite the same level of emotion as the stage version did. A real tear jerker.

Of course, I can’t write something about the stage and not mention musicals. Les Miserables, Wicked, the Phantom of the Opera, West Side Story, Cats, Jersey Boys, Matilda, the Book of Mormon… the list of long-running West End and Broadway hits is endless and constantly growing. In the words of Neil Patrick Harris at the 2011 Tony Awards, Broadway has never been broader:

I think one of my personal favourites was watching Hairspray on tour in the Liverpool Empire, where the actors were really playing it up for the scouse crowd- I have never laughed so much! The interaction of the actors with the audience really makes a play spectacular; the actors know if the audience is receptive. From working at the theatre over the summer, it was when the audience were the most absorbed that the actors shined the brightest, coming up with new improvised hilarity, or provoking powerful emotions. In one performance, the ending of Othello (and I won’t ruin it for those of you who don’t know the plot) drew most of the audience to tears, and there was a good few minutes of stunned silence before the applause began.

This month marked the 50th anniversary of the National Theatre. I hope some of you managed to see the special show on BBC2 where the theatre brought together all the actors who have ever played there to give short performances. Here is the trailer:

As part of their anniversary season, they will be screening some of their most popular recent shows again. Othello, Coriolanus, Frankenstein and War Horse will all be on in the Picturehouse between now and March, so do go along and see one of them at least (I will be seeing them all!)

And finally, if this hasn’t convinced you already, go and see a show. The actors and everyone back stage and front of house work so hard to put on eight shows a week, and many of the seasons are only very short. Many famous faces are in the West End at the moment: Matthew Macfadyen and Stephen Mangan in Jeeves and Wooster, Jude Law in Henry V (actually, Ed Harrison who was Cyrano in Chester this summer is in this show as well), Tom Hiddleston in Coriolanus… Go and see something! In the words of Neil Patrick Harris, I guarantee a truly legendary show.

Sophie

“Objectification”, screeched an unnamed tabloid newspaper in reaction to the release of a naked calendar by the Warwick University Rowing Teams. “Shameless”, agreed a 45 year old from Blackpool in a comment at the bottom of the article, bolstered by 150 righteous “likes”. The student members of Warwick Boat Club joined the numerous other student bodies to produce a calendar displaying naked team members in rowing themed poses to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Support.

 The disdain for their enterprise was echoed by feminist blogs and columnists across the internet, accusing the girls of resorting to a “cheap” fundraising tactic, based on the morally reprehensible idea that “sex sells”. As a (somewhat part-time) feminist, my position on this was confused. Out of principle, I wouldn’t support something that traded purely off the sexual appeal of participants, be they men or women…I looked at the photos, preparing for a healthy dose of righteous indignation. However, this unsatisfactorily failed to materialise. The photos, quite simply, were beautiful. They captured a powerful image of comradeship and unguarded happiness, displaying a raw fearlessness that empowered rather than objectified. These were real people, friends and teammates, who had come together to work for a wider cause; there was something greater than simply “sex appeal”. These were not the products of commercial pornography; in the fact that they are able to aesthetically convey reactions and discussion based upon interpretation, these are works of art. 

This descent from my comforting certainty of feminist outrage got me thinking…about clothes. Anthropologically speaking, they certainly “make sense” – studies on the growth of lice suggest that clothes were adapted by hunter gatherers up to 72,000 years ago to protect against the elements. However, London fashion week does not advocate Cara Delevingne strutting up a catwalk covered in a warm (if slightly louse-y) bear skin tunic…things have moved on slightly. Clothes became part of our social, rather than survival instincts. My respect for the beauty of the human naked form would not amount to a naked trip to Sainsburys Local if the climate was particularly mild. However, there are cultures where this is not the case; Jimmy Nelson recently conducted a moving study of tribes in “Before They Pass Away”, a book which celebrates the multiplicity of lifestyles that exist on Earth. The Mursi Tribe of Ethiopia have retained this concept of clothing as a necessity rather than default position; on long walks they will fashion shoes to protect their feet, but on a day to day basis do not see the need to cover their bodies with material. Instead of using clothes to establish status or personal identity, they mark their bodies with natural paints. This is not done out of any statement or desire to be “liberalised” - the social norms of clothing simply do not apply to their way of life. Surely there is something to be learned from this entirely different expression of identity which relies on what we possess naturally rather than what we can acquire.

Some of the most celebrated Western art features the naked form…Botticelli, Picasso, Rubens, just a handful of the “greats” who produced naked artwork. However, the naked form is almost unilaterally exported as an artistic device; in Picasso’s “les demoiselles d'avignon” it is a statement as to the moral character of the Prostitutes it depicts, Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” displays Venus’s nudity as a temporary state; according to the Homeric hymn from which it drew its inspiration, she is about to be “clothed with heavy raiment” by the Gold Filleted Horae…lucky Venus. Her pose is “impossible” to sustain, with her weight being distributed too heavily on the left leg to be maintained. She’s naked, but only until a more preferable state of appearance better comes along. This reliance on clothes even permeates the sale of art; gallery websites filter their selections by demarcating the “nude” art. Being naked must always be a statement, a claim or particularly interesting comment upon some wider societal flaw or vulnerability. The French Film director Robert Bresson commented that “in the nude, all that is not beautiful is obscene”, a prime example of how the artistic value of the nude form is clouded by pre=suppositions and contextual lenses; it is instinctively judged before it is properly viewed. If we are ever to get to a “pure” appreciation of art, film and the wider cultural sphere, we must strive towards attempting an opinion upon art that transcends context. If we look at a naked photograph, our first instinct is to question why they are naked, and then promptly place a judgement upon this (be this political, sexual or social) as an aesthetically integrated statement.

 Why is this important? We have become detached from ourselves. The post-“Adam and Eve” concept of “shame” that is attached to a naked form is deeply integrated into all aspects of Western society, to the extent where the beauty of the human form is lost to the context that enshrouds it. Please don’t misunderstand me; strolling around Cambridge in the nude is neither practical nor advisable…this is not an objective claim to the benefit of nudity. However, it is a suggestion that nudity should not be restricted to the invocation of an “end purpose”, or that dangerous moment between the shower and your towel…it’s not objectively right, but it isn’t objectively wrong. Or feminist. Or anti-feminist. It’s a fact of life, that’s been extended into a statement about life – separated from any societal narratives, the human body is a source of beauty rather than controversy. 

So. Blake Society Naked Calendar..?

Rosie Irvine

Yesterday I was having lunch with a friend. While we ate, we overheard a conversation from the next table, where some other students were discussing their forthcoming presentation (with powerpoint slides) on ‘The Hunger Games’. I’m confident you all know what that is, so I’ll just say that I was made to watch the first one and thought that it was A Bad Film. 

My friend is Finnish, so as the conversation turned to what a bad film ‘The Hunger Games’ is/was,  I learned about an interesting Finnish word. ‘Vihalukea’ is a word meaning ‘to hate-read something’, as in, ‘to read something because you know you will hate it, and want your righteous anger to be proved right’. Although we don’t have such a popular term for it, hate-reading’s a phenomenon that definitely exists in the English-speaking world, which may partly explain the success of, for example, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’, the ‘Twilight’ series of books/films (maybe they were hate-watched?), and everything that Dan Brown has ever produced. 

This realisation led to another: hate-reading is an absolutely bizarre thing to do. Of course, I’m no stranger to the addictive cocktail of anger, adrenaline, validation and superiority you get when reading something that is, you believe, Stupid and Wrong. It’s a great feeling, it’s as if a warm syrup synthesised from extracts of ‘being right’ and ‘everyone else being rubbish’ is being poured all over the irreproachable pancakes of your opinion. It’s why I’m writing this blog. It’s why Mail Online is the third most-visited website on my computer. 

If you try to think about it logically, though, the weirdness of hate-reading is undeniable. Not only is it essentially a waste of time (remember, if you spend hours reading something that is by all accounts, shit, that’s time you’ll never get back), you’re just reinforcing your own opinions by picking weak targets to square them off against. There’s a reason that we all spend our university lives reading, reading, complaining, and then reading some more. It’s because it’s the best possible way to broaden your mind, to come to your own informed conclusions, and to earn the right to have your opinions heard. If you want to tell someone why E.L James is a Bad Writer and writes things that are Bad then great, tumblr will be delighted*. But while it’s depressing that somewhere, statistically, someone’s mum bought a ball gag because Christian Grey told her that’s what she wanted to do, if she’d bought it after a close reading of ‘The Second Sex’, and had reached the conclusion, better informed and more mindful of her own sole responsibility for her sexuality and desire, that what she really wanted was to invest in some of the things you find on naughtier parts of the internet, then isn’t that so much better a decision to have made? 

When Robert Webb recently told Russell Brand to ‘read some fucking Orwell’, it illustrated the power that books hold, and why it’s so important to read things that might benefit you, rather than things that might bring you one step closer to that rage-fuelled heart attack. Webb’s objection was that, while he agreed with some sentiments of Brand’s grandiose calls for sociopolitical revolution, the fact that he didn’t appear to be aware of the realities of revolutionary discourse, as listed in various books, made it appear as if he was pulling his revolution out of his arse, rather than his mind. So, outraged people of the world, put down your Fifty Shades, your Angels and Demons, your New Moons, live free in the knowledge that the new Hunger Games film won’t revolutionise your opinions on the stratified world of social class and privilege, and that you don’t have to care if it doesn't.  If you do want your opinions informed or renewed, you don’t necessarily have to read ‘some fucking Orwell’, just pick something you think will be good. 

Tom

*I should point out that I understand the irony inherent in my criticism on the internet of people writing criticism on the internet, but then I never claimed I was going to win a bloody Pulitzer for this, did I?

The summer now seems long ago but this is the perfect opportunity to bring back happy memories from my completely crazy adventure teaching South Korean students English.  Being a relatively undiscovered country here are a few bizarre and beautiful parts of my trip photographed that I would like to share.

Jinju - 5 hours drive south of Seoul and far from the tourist trail this was my home for four weeks of teaching. We were told it was 'small provincial town' in reality it had 400,000 residents.

Animal shaped dumplings. A lucky dip - we were never sure what they would would contain - red bean, white bean, vegetable or meat .

The world's largest shopping centre in Busan, Korea's second largest city, featuring a spa, ice rink, golf driving range, rooftop children's play area and its own metro station besides all the thousands of items for sale on eighteen floors.

I never associated Korea with either the beach or the sea even though it is a peninsular. Tanned skin is not fashionable so expect to see Koreans fully clothed or under umbrellas. Being Europeans and topless certainly attracted some attention!!!

World's largest fish market in Busan. Much more interesting than any aquarium that I have ever been to and full of bizarre creatures from the depths of the ocean. Nearly all the fish and shellfish were still living; restaurants served meals with less than ten minutes from tank to plate.

Interesting T-shirts with rather unique (I think that is the nicest thing to say about them) phrases written in English were for sale on all the market stalls. Also fashionable were the 'couple's outfits' where boyfriends and girlfriends would where identical (and I mean identical down to the glasses, shoes and backpacks) clothes. Somehow I don't think that this will catch on in the UK anytime soon. 

The border fence to the North. A stark reminder that Korea is a divided country, a pain that you can feel by talking to the Korean people. Each ribbon is a pledge for reunification. This is the first in a series of fences, control points and fortifications before reaching the DMZ (de-militarized zone) a stretch of land separating the north and south. Standing by the world's most militarized border (ironic given the name) I saw soldiers not much older than myself patrolling as part of their mandatory two years military service.

Seoul. The capital, a metropolitan area of 25 million people fills the skyline in all directions from the city's viewpoint at the N-tower.

Fancy a snack? What about a caterpillar from one of the traditional markets.

Views over the Korean countryside from a Buddhist temple.

...and without the need to include one, there must be a mention of the Korean tradition that I embraced: the selfie photograph.

George

Okay, I admit that it’s only really when the Coca Cola ad comes on that we get out the tinsel, but last night I stumbled across the M&S Magic and Sparkle campaign for this year and have to admit that my 6 year old self resurfaced again as lead actress Rosie Huntingdon flitted between different fairytale sequences such as Alice in Wonderland, Arabian Nights and The Wizard of Oz. An appearance from Helena Bonham Carter as the wizard also made me smile as I was sipping my (Waitrose Essentials… not quite M&S) hot chocolate. Whilst there may be debating over whether it’s just hyped up consumerism, these adverts add to the magic of Christmas, and although good ol' Cola takes the crown, I've been rather impressed by the kitschy storytelling from the great British department stores. Side-stepping the throwing-ins of unnecessary products that scream “come and buy this!” the storylines are simply charming and enough to make any Scrooge’s heart melt.

First up, M&S 2013. I love the children's play feel to it, with shadow puppets, light up roads and the heaps of colour in this sequence.

This has been one of my favourite adverts for some time now. Utterly sweet.

If only wrapping presents was that simple...

John Lewis does it again :-)


And just because it's Cola: