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Cover Chris Anthem Judith and Maidservant

Artichoke aims to provide a platform in Cornwall to promote equity of access to all, by supporting adults of all abilities. We support a particular genre of creative practice which operates on the boundaries of mainstream art. Unlike the artists who paint the Cornish landscape the creatives included in our publication may or may not be influenced by those outer forms but in general create singular realities for themselves in their work that express raw, intuitive emotional energy that departs from the cultural norm and manifests in all kinds of arts, which include theatre, dance, music, creative writing and poetry. This magazine has risen from the participatory research projects, Spontaneous Combustion that explored different approaches to creativity led by Linda Styles, Jo Forsyth and Lisa Stewart. Forming a magazine seemed a logical next step to continue supporting those individuals who might consider themselves to be on the margins of the art world for various reasons. The Spontaneous Combustion projects set out to examine how those who feel excluded can be supported and presented to a wider audience, and included in new exhibitions alongside recognised artists. We sincerely believe that this widening participation needs to continue to provide an ongoing level of support for these, particularly the more vulnerable creatives, whose vision often contributes a fresh look at the worlds we live in and enriches society’s evolving consciousness.


We support the work of those who are not prepared to compromise, radicals and non-conformists within the thriving artistic community in Cornwall. What they have to say seldom appears in the pages of the mainstream literature. Our intention is not to duplicate the debate which arts journalism already supports within the county, through a range of local specific and nonspecific publications, but to actively seek out those who experience their creative practices as socially marginalized. The arts administrative structure within the county provides very well for those artists with the relevant social skills to engage in the networks provided but there are a significant number of creatives who feel themselves excluded from this funded assistance due to a range of reasons. Artichoke aims to address this and give a voice to celebrate the contributions of many who deserve to be placed in the spotlight. Project co-ordination: Lisa Stewart & Roger Davison Layout & Design: Chris Anthem Proofreader: Claire Harris Thanks to Bethany Sheldon Fentem for nips and tucks; this Zine is produced independently and copies are printed and stapled in Roger’s shed . No part of this publication may be reproduced in any way without permission Further information on artists included can be obtained from:

Below ‘Candlestick for William’ William Joseph Styles 4.4.1986 - 24.9.2009 Brave are the pure of heart Linda Styles 2011






‘Otherwise it will all be for nothing‘ is a powerful new exhibition at Penny Macbeth Gallery, which explores the themes of love and loss through painting, ceramics and textiles which have been made in the wake of extreme events in the lives of two contemporary artists. The title of the exhibition is a reference to a phrase which Linda Styles heard repeatedly in the trance-like state somewhere between sleeping and waking following the sudden and tragic death of her son William ('Will') in November 2009. The exhibition is a memorial to Will and a celebration of his life. Finding no place in the world to run from grief, Linda turned to her art as a way of embracing and processing otherwise uncontainable emotions. Significantly, her work for this exhibition referenced shrine goods and sacred spaces in the form of containers for light : Candlesticks featured as did grotto-like, encrusted surfaces and an excess of baroque ornamentation. The black tarry surface of dissolution is married with vibrant and saturated colour. As if the kiln were an alchemical vessel somehow capable of transformating Linda’s despair into joyous and beautiful objects, William’s own remarkable energy shines through the work - fully alive, charged, and spontaneous - as if art had somehow channelled his spirit. “ Listen to your heart – it knows all things because it comes from the soul of the world and it will one day return there.” Paolo Coelho (The Alchemist)


Extracts from my daily chronicles taken over the course of one year, the worst year of my life, my daily account of the grief sodden insanity that comes with losing a child. I am like a slug most days, gliding from room to room, silently. Increasingly filled with a rising dread that I really do not want to go on living, but I have to keep this to myself for fear of raising the alarm, so on I go, flat, monotonous and heavy, waiting for oblivion. Another bleak day, not too much to report but what person in their right mind runs out of the house at 3am in bare feet, sobbing so hard that their mouth feels like it is going to break to drive dangerously to the cemetery and run to her dead boy’s stone, wailing out loud and lays down beside him - his mother, that's who. I am not alone, this is natural, savage and raw, I am not nice, I am not in control, I have nothing to lose or so I think now. I am accused of being selfish but there is little consideration of consequences, the pain is all consuming, I cannot see beyond it yet, I am told I will find strategies to cope, that I have to find other unexpected places to put my love for William, the fact that I am thinking about it is enough for me to be strong, like William would have expected. He is my mentor. I had more visions when I went to bed early this morning at 3am, beautiful images of William, unknowns, lights, valleys, skies, I am learning to go with it, not draw back, not panic, break the thread, ruin the connection. Should be getting ready for CPN and student observer but can’t be bothered.

This day last year I helped my son to die, he left us at 10.45am, we had stayed with him all day and all night, a vigil of love that took place in a tiny waiting room for 6 hours, the room filling up with people that love William, police, nurses, 4 neurosurgeons, transplant co-coordinators, and then behind a curtain in Intensive Care for 18 hours and now I am reliving every terrible and yet wonderful moment as it happened, on a never ending loop in my brain. Charlie first said, many months ago now, that these hours were akin to biblical in terms of raw and savage emotion and the actions of love that manifested continually throughout those special hours. There is little dignity permitted in the middle of a swine flu epidemic, but against these odds, we managed an extraordinary vigil of unconditional and immense love for a special boy, my boy. I was drawn to washing his feet by instinct, I needed to do this for him, to caress his feet was wonderful, to kiss them, worship and adore them, I was not aware of anything, people were watching but there was no awkwardness, Jesse and I were tending to him as only mothers and soul mate lovers can. So, this day, one year on we were faced with thunder, torrential rain, unsuitable clothing, a ferry ride, a muddy wild walk from Flushing to Mylor, lunch, walk back, ceremony for William, pub, ride home, Labour club, too much/ not enough alcohol, tears, sleep.


Left detail of Candlestick 2011 Opposite Shrine for William 2011 Page 4 & Below Close ups of Pin Up 2011


R o g e r

D a v i s o n


Where were you born, where do you live and why do you choose to live in Cornwall? I was born in England in 1949 and lived 30 minutes from London on the Bakerloo Line. The first time I came to Cornwall was on a family holiday to Polperro when I was 13. The sun shone every day, the sea sparkled and sang, and I made friends with a local girl, so that Cornwall became a special place for me. (ill. What the Sea knows !).


In 1969 I had been in London for a couple of years, (ill. Clouds across the city‌) and although I enjoyed a lot of it, I became overwhelmed by the crowds, the bad air, the noise, the pressures of living there, and literally walked away from the city one morning, hitch hiked to Penzance and went over to the Scilly Isles (ill. Mermaid–Cornish Muse). Living on the islands for almost a year and a half and enjoying the isolation, I returned to the mainland restored to robust health and vibrant, if questionable, sanity. Ready for another round. In 1987 reading The White Goddess by Robert Graves and visiting ancient stone circles and burial mounds I got the call of Cornwall again and came to live in West Penwith, which to me is like a benign foreign country where I have stayed ever since and hope to remain so. (ill. The flowering of human nature).

Right Mermaid- Cornish Muse. 59 x 69cm Oil & acrylic on canvas 1991 Opposite Clouds across the city at Sunset, New friends, New rooms, New Moons 46 x 60cm Gouache & Letraset on paper 2006 Below What the Sea knows 46 x 60cm Gouache & Ink on paper 2006 Describe a bit about yourself and your creative experience. What are you trying to achieve in your work? Between 1965-67 I did a Foundation course and some months of fine art at High Wycombe College, Bucks, where the emphasis was on life drawing and history of art. After leaving college before the completion of my course unable to convince my parents otherwise when they insisted “art was not a good career choice” I left home with no prospects and no great ambitions and became an itinerant painter and decorator. It was only after moving to West Penwith in 1987 and living here for a year that I really began drawing and painting again. I illustrate the configurations of an inner life quite foreign to my everyday existence but wholly related to it. I begin by making marks on the work surface to produce keys to guide me through the progression of the work, the finished pieces being the result of a struggle to define what I did not know at the outset. My guiding principles are the desire to maintain the integrity of the image in its formative and cumulative state, and an abstract idealism inherent in the word Muse (ill. ‘Goddess bestowing gifts on the Poet’). Someone having seen some of my pictures once described them as images of “naked, handicapped people”, which I liked very much because naked and handicapped aptly describes, in my experience, the emotional and psychological condition of being human. (ill. ‘Self Portrait’). 9

For me making art in this way is a primal experience, intoxicating, and mysterious, incorporating elements which I sense are timeless, and imbued with universal influences. (arty quotes from) How would you describe what inspires you most? I am inspired mostly by other people’s creativity in all its forms, regardless of gender, creed, culture, or historical time. What medium do you like to use and what projects are you working on? I like to develop techniques using any kind of paint or drawing material that’s to hand. I also carve stones such as granite, serpentine, and slate. I like the idea that the stone could be around for thousands of years. Who are the creatives you admire? I admire whoever I am into at the moment, particularly those creatives who have had such drive for what they do that they carried on regardless of cultural changes, tastes and trends in fashion, lack of money or public recognition. If the world was coming to an end, which one creative piece of art would you take with you? Nearly thirty years ago I found a postcard and have kept it ever since. It is a detail of St. Anne taken from Mathias Neithart’s (Grunewald) ‘Isenheim Altarpiece’ 15101515 in which she appears in the central background lighting up the shadows of Grunewald’s Gothic masterpiece with her divine smile shining through what appears to me to be a 16th century acid trip. My world metaphorically speaking has ended many times and no piece of art has really helped to restore it, rather I have continued to plumb whatever depths of feeling have been present and illustrated them ( ill. House of Love). But in this instance presumably with no time to spare, I’d grab that postcard of St.Anne as the tsunamis washed away St.Ives Bay, Mounts Bay and the Lizard and as the crystal clear light so favoured by landscape artists in Cornwall turned to poison, hold on to that fading postcard from someone called Sophie which reads “having a really superb holiday high up in the Vosges, we were working on putting the roof on the youth centre, there were lots of cultural activities, drama, music, etc. I visited several places of interest, The Isenheim from which this P.C. is a detail……..END 10

House of Love 80 x 60cm Acrylic & crayon on paper 2010

The flowering of human nature 130 x 36cm Acrylic & oil paint on canvas 2009



Opposite Self Portrait 25 x 38cm Oil paint & acrylic on board 1995 Below Goddess bestowing gifts on the Poet 30x 46cm Ink & acrylic on paper 2010





In 2009 I went into rehab. I was addicted to heroin. Rehab is a place for failed addicts. That's people who have even failed at being an addict. Competing with addiction is a lost battle, addicts who have played those impossibly loaded dice have learnt to compensate for fate by embroidering their truths. Rehab is full of story tellers, people



who have honed their narratives in the bars, dives, squats, crack houses, opium dens, Thai brothels and prison cells. Rehab is a story telling eisteddfod. In rehab people are telling stories all the time – in the daytime in the therapy groups everyone tells their story in one way, the required version, the “revealing”/”honest” version that is the pathway into retelling it, and retelling, until

the emotional outcome is felt and then surrendered. Then in the evening everyone tells the same stories but the entertaining barroom bravado version, where all the mayhem, absurdity, irreverence, transgression, love, deceit, death, birth, theft, and insanity are a raucous, tearful, bewailing night at the big theatre. Catharsis of tragedy. Nothing is very pretty, the subjects are as black as sin, what is told during the day as tragedy is told in the evening as farce. At first the story telling is the good bit. At first everything is alive and transparent in the stories. Everyone's a slightly mischievous little red riding hood skipping along ever more primrose strewn paths, discovering syringes amongst the corpses in the forest. Everyone writes down their stories, some people can't read and write so other people help them. Some stories go on for pages, some stories are two sentences. After a while the stories are relentless. The violence, the pain, the gruelling depravity of it all. But the relief is palpable. Some things have only been said here, in the rehab


rooms. People are learning the mechanisms by which their stories are relevant, that the importance of the story and version told is what matters. And not its forensic truth value – but by its use value. How useful is the version being told to the person in the present. But I found myself carrying around other people’s stories, some big weights – dysfunction like you wouldn't know existed. The stories get inscribed on you. Imagine being scribbled on with a biro 20 times a day, a palimpsest of where your own story is overwritten, erased, finds conjunctions with and trails off from others. I then starting doodling. It helped me listen. I started doodling characters. Sometimes I'd draw someone else in there. Or start with a gesture they were doing, or a leg or a jacket, whilst I was sitting listening to the story. Therapists didn't like it much, they found it off putting, I think it messed with their “body language” readings. But 16

after a while they kind of gave in, there were drawings on loads of scraps of paper, on hand outs, on the phone kiosk, across the newspaper, on the “significant events sheets” we had to fill out each day. I pinned them all up on the walls and the other addicts/alcoholics chose one that they liked and then told a story about them. It turned out that they all choose one that reminded them of someone that they knew, used to know – surprising how many of them dead. And then the storytelling started again, re-animated, hysterical stories and characters laced with the catharsis of tragedy.

Below Rehab Drawing 21 x 29 cm Pen on paper 2010


C h a r m a i n e H o n e y c h u r c h

P A I N T Describe a bit about yourself and your creative practice/experience? The essence of the subject matter, against the expression helped me to consider what the genuine values of/in painting could be. I show energy in the paint, swirls of energy, of me, the paint trying to break free from the canvas. The paint speaks. My emotions fuel this energy. I want to capture the whole thing, nature, essence of the thing. I'm not interested in being Technicolor anal. I don't believe in being precious. Can you say something about your creative process? I draw in charcoal using it as a thread that leads to oil paint, working fast and drawing from life, landscape, me and my space. Charcoal paint sight, intuition and hand bring me sensation in touch with the subject matter of memory. De-construct and reconstruct. The life as outline of the past, catching the whole thing infused with my own energy of the present. I like to work in isolation. I like to work through my nerves. What inspires you most? Where do you find it, in what, and how? Space. Space in its silence has a powerful impact on the essence and expression in drawing/painting. I feel its understated18


ness. Light against the dark, dark against the light. Space/memories/life. When I feel shitty. What are you looking for in a painting? Passion - I want the painting to pierce my eyes, speak to me and be remembered. What are you looking for in yourself when you paint? This is what I experience. The paths of painting – depression (hell) – through manic high excitement and tension – the energy into the paint. Then I'm looking for resolution, where paint contains itself and where I can feel balance (kingdom of heaven). What mediums do you use? Charcoal and oil paint. I like to use charcoal as a thread that leads to paint.


Who are the creative people you most admire? Claude Monet, John Constable, Partou Zia. They catch energy and essence. Paintings that hold time, that stay with me. The whole thing. What inspires you? I loved the way Monet could capture the whole thing of the subject essence. If the world were coming to an end which piece of art would you consider saving? Constable's “A Rainstorm Over the Sea (1824)”

Charmaine Honeychurch is a painter working at Krowji, the old grammar school, Redruth.

Paint Speaks

inside (in haste done

Energy light

comes crashing)

scribbles mark the energy

paint speaks come crashing

mark time. Paint speaks

in loudly marks swirling loudly in their

The light coming from water

energy against and electricity

the kingdom of heaven

glowing light

light trickling filtering from

running in the shadows.







Why do you work in Cornwall? I came to Cornwall two years ago. I didn't come here for the light. It wasn't a romantic move in any sense of the word. I had spent the last 7 years in Yemen, Beirut, Cairo and then London. It was a period of enormous reappraisal about my priorities as a painter. I stripped away as much of the theoretical basis of my practice as possible. Internally I felt amputated, like that part of Cornwall, like Redruth - just tethered by the sinew of the railway line. These works began with seismographic drawing trying to re-sense the missing limb. In Redruth town I found a dysfunctional Trumpton, the viaduct, the deserted fire station, the castle, the station. Trumpton after a hundred years of social stagnation, Trumpton with a kebab shop; a sin

Opposite Maidservants Marriage 120 x 150cm Oil and graphite on paper 2010 23

sinewy knuckle of a place. A place devoid of pretension. All of this immediately resonated with me. I found part of a farmhouse on Carn Brea. I liked it very much. I was drawn to it. The work is rooted in a place where a sense of the civic belies a more visceral underbelly.

Can you say something about your creative process? Working each painting is like a romantic date, nerves and stuttering, followed by listening, by chancing enough, never too much, keeping stuff back in reserve. To work and keep the conversation with the paint alive; it wouldn't be art without some rhetorical flourishes, but honesty is the best strategy in the long run. I am looking not to bore the paper. I want the paintings to be open; I want to open the painting, which is as much a state of being as a way of working. The paper is sensitive, sensitive as a skin. It’s responsive to paint. It allows thick visceral passages of paint, or soft bleeding, whole degrees of mark making. Its fragility is illusory; its membrane takes the most aggressive marks. The paper is perfect as it is; I am always

looking to maintain that perfection. I try by paint to seduce it. Seduction is the metamorphosis that keeps its perfection in flow. There are technical challenges, the paper is semitransparent, and there is a lot of graphite that goes into it, always tempting itself to dissolve into the turpentine, so I work on both sides of the paper, flipping them around like giant flags. It’s a process that immerses me in the tactility of the material. I am intimate with what lies behind it. I associate the paper with my childhood. It was ubiquitous in the house. My mother looked after the son of a doctor; we would go to the doctor’s house, I would sit on the floor with the doctor’s medical books, the colours of the anatomy illustrations, and my mother would sew with these enormous sheets of paper, pinning the fabric to them, each of us doing our own work. I liked that. I wasn't allowed to draw on it then. I don't think I wanted to. As patterns they relate to something that is subsequently going to be made, plans for a garment (in this they are human

Right Head of R. 50 x 110cm Oil and graphite on paper 2011 Opposite Glory Box II 60 x 100cm Oil and graphite on paper 2011 Below Judith and Maidservant 120 x 120cm Oil and graphite on paper 2011

sized), but also as drawings they share the quality of Renaissance full scale cartoons – I think of the Leonardo cartoon in the National Gallery (I was taken to the National Gallery around the same time as the doctors; I knew about big sheets of paper from an early age).

What are you looking for in a painting? Its own autonomous life. There is a lot of cross currents between femininity and masculinity on the surface. It’s what gives them their presence. In the studio they hang, there is a weight of the paint/varnish and the lightness of the paper. Caught by the air they oscillate slightly, swelling breathing presences. I am happy when they have that presence. It’s something ineffable; I’m being nourished by the tensions of the surface.

If the world were coming to an end which piece of art would you consider saving? Courbet's “L'Origine du monde.”


Below Glory Box II 60 x 100cm Oil and graphite on paper 2010

Chris Anthem painter working from Krowji, The old grammar school, Redruth. www. 25

You the Lotus of the Night Pool

L i n d a C l e a r y

I had searched for you breathed you, in silent dreams where the black silk of sky drank of me I had believed in you


though they said you were fiction but who had invented you I asked it was you that I saw when the moon shone casting your name

Linda Cleary is a performer - poet - writer – artist; seen as being in the vanguard of young female performance poets and emerging as a radical nouvelle vague Romantic Poet; presenting a different type of work for the UK. She works across disciplines; creating non traditional, diverse work of spoken & written word; live performances use raw delivery and live musicians/ recorded music and moving image/film and poetry led installation using audio, tactile objects & image. Her work often carries an urban and contemporary thrust; some themes may be timeless, universal, but a modern twist and juxtaposition in delivering the tale applies an honesty to the age that we live in whilst carrying a definite honouring to classic influences. Her performance poetry and style has been seen as unique, strong, raw and challenging. Linda Cleary is in Cairo for the long haul. A native of Manchester, England, the poet, writer and artist visited Cairo five times before taking up residence in Dokki 15 months ago. From her first visit, Cleary has become a fixture in local arts circles, quickly connecting with established artists, writers and gallerists while building a student following amongst a growing group of young Egyptians eager to explore their creative potential. 'Powerful, uncompromising, rhythmic verse. Tough, lyrical beauty. Packs poetic punches with aching sensitivity. A unique new voice. If you need a comparison, think; a young Joolz Denby, laced with Patti Smith overtones.' (Apples&Snakes).

Opposite page ‘American Flag’ Was written after hearing a news item about a Hispanic man in America who was high on crack and carrying a firearm, shooting randomly on the freeway and carrying his baby on his chest to deter being shot by police marksmen. The police however decided to shoot him anyway and the bullet went through the body of the baby, killing both of them. 26

you the lotus of the night pool where I swam wishing myself to breathe underwater I was beautiful then full of promise and I vowed myself to you opening my want your nameless shadow came to me and I sprang golden weaving our midnight stories into a further belief you breathed a fire into my blood and ran musical fingers over my singing skin gone before the mighty sun an ecstatic trace upon the dawn colouring the sky they tell me this is the way of it that you will not return but there are many of you all beautiful

American Flag No one remembered the definitive moment that the baby’s screams stopped clawing the afternoon heat with rips of anxiety They just became aware of the silence which struck to the gut with its sickening reason The father’s hand fell away from clutching her dress Family blood running familiar clotting in the sidewalk Her small body hit his as they both went down down with no opposite ever to occur again The police chief wiped his brow, thinking of the paperwork Lucky they were Hispanic; less money to buy trouble for him but the baby getting shot was still going to take some explanation The mother was being sick on the molten tarmac smell of trauma and city mixed Hitting her head with empty hands forever empty hands feeling the rip in her womb The sound of that internal scream was rising, forcing its high fury and pain out through every pore On all fours swaying incoherent hurling incantations to curse her husband for using their baby as a shield The marksmen exited to waiting vehicles with debriefings to get the official line they did not even exchange a look but one looked at her and felt repulsion for this outpouring out there in full view bare and raw He wanted to fuck her Fuck her on the road, ram her ass and throw her down so her head split blood red gash Then she turned and caught his eye knew what this white policia was thinking


Where were you born, where do you live and why do you choose to live in Cornwall? I was born in Wimbledon, London to an English Scottish mother and an Irish father who then emigrated to Australia on the last £10 boat and after 18 months my mother returned with me and my sister and we were brought up in Manchester. I live in Cornwall because it's beautiful and it allowed me to drop the urban attitude and open up my soul. Describe a bit about yourself and your creative experience. What are you trying to achieve in your work? My work is autobiographical, journalistic or fictional. Politics, world affairs, love affairs, character studies, narratives. I throw the dark that I see in society back up and out, I want to make people FEEL and relate. I like to get right down into things. Say the unsaid. But I am also a Romantic and write of the sublime feasts at the table of love. How would you describe what inspires you most? Love. Pain. Beauty. And all that runs with and all that runs opposite - within ourselves, within society, within lives. What medium do you like to use? Poetry, unpunctuated prose, narrative, spoken word fused with music, film, image, lately I'm working with objects also; as within my new poetry led mixed media installation The Tarantismo Project. If the world was coming to an end, which one piece of art would you consider saving, aside from your own? If the world was coming to an end I can't see the point of trying to save anything but it might be comforting to embrace a fine marble sculpture or run through the Louvre and throw myself into a masterpiece or if possible end it on a sexual high with a hot man; if I was unable to do any of the aforementioned things I might do a Christina Rossetti and wade into the sea exclaiming 'Is this it?!'.

Opposite ‘Posthumously' Was written when I was holding feelings of grief about a dear friend of mine that was undergoing treatment for a serious illness. Sometime earlier she had introduced me to the work of the playwright Sarah Kane who had been a personal friend of hers and whom she thought would have been interested in my work had she been alive. Two co-incidences then occurred; on my last trip to Paris I saw a poster for Sarah Kane's powerful play about mental illness and institutions '4.48', displayed in the window of the small theatre opposite the door of my hotel. Then on my return and on the morning of my friend's surgery, which would see her ear removed, there was an item on Radio 4 about a deaf actors' group who were staging ‘4.48’.


Posthumously for Sarah Kane

posthumously post humourously posting humours of miasmic tendencies seismic at 4.48am

I could do numerology with that one for hours still, it would be the same outcome

Gin soaked on a train platform, the last time I spent with our mutual friend she said we would have liked each other the rawness sees its own

then there on a poster in Paris looking upward I memorised you down into a monochrome beauty

This morning they were speaking about you on the radio as our beloved put her hand to where she once heard wild music and words of love words shouted words spat words screamed words cooed words danced with extravagance words scaling walls words hitting beliefs in the face

never believe anything, anything where are you removed to one step away or hundreds one step is all it took one step outa sight one step Pont Neuf one step like a rabid dog bitch on heat scruffing up and fucking one step and the story becomes past simple 29

J A I N Mc K A Y

The Goya Relationship

The Goya Relationship is the first of four stories based upon Jorge Luis Borges’ idea of there being only four stories that we retell over and over again in different guises. Siege of the city is the title he gave to all stories that portray our gained strength caused by an attack on the self, family, town or planet by an outside force. In defining the imagery. Goya seemed a perfect reference for a relationship that had turned into a war. I thought I’d copy Goya in order to enhance my drawing style and anchor it in the right mood. Upon working with Goya’s imagery I found there was a picture already designed for every statement I needed to make. Goya, in talking about war, freaks and suffering had made every image I needed. So I let myself be fully influenced by him. Jain McKay Published as a book with fifteen colour plates and linked dialogue I thought it beautifully drawn and executed allowing my imagination to conjure imagery relevant to the dialogue and by my strong emotional connection to it, relive some of those overpowering feelings experienced in perhaps similar relationships I have been involved in both as perpetrator and protagonist, 30

which counsellors refer to as codependent, addictive, dysfunctional, etc. but which have always been the essence and essential ground for romantic and erotic love, having that delicious self destructive edge so dear and seemingly essential to artists, poets, musicians, playwrights, and authors alike, for at least some of their lives, until they tire of it, learn to avoid it by stoic acts of self preservation, commit suicide, or go insane, but which have universally inspired the greatest and most sublime works of art. I found The Goya Relationship particularly poignant reading it for the first time whilst waiting at Penzance bus station for the 9.55pm. to Purgatory to arrive, in a sharp cold October wind under the unnatural orange glow of distant street lights which complemented the sepia ink drawings superbly and the indistinct wraith-like figures of my fellow travellers temporarily inhabiting that inhospitable shadow bound terminus. Next morning I re-read it bathed in sunlight at my breakfast table and discovered more to see in the imagery than had been apparent before and also in the sentiment and its narrative of a ménage a trois in which the drug, mental torment, obsession, remains the ever-present and eradicable third party.

Jain McKay tells us the style of drawing is taken directly from Goya but there are sections of it where she has minimized the detail, using ink which might have been diluted with tears on wet paper simulating Rorschach cards from which we can interpret demons and shadow selves. To empathise with not only Goya but Jorge Luis Borges as well is quite an undertaking and in doing so she offers us a piece of work using metaphors and archetypes to guide the viewer’s subconscious to messages of growth and self development, whilst stimulating the senses with images of beauty, and pain, illustrating the suffering we all from time to time must meet and which when faced becomes our greatest teacher. R.D.

The Goya Relationship is available direct from the artist at: email:

In the beginning you were my Caveman my Stig of the dump.

(plate 1.)


We were like soul-mates Conjoined twins.

(plate 2.)


You would do anything for me.

(plate 3.)


But self medicating just made it worse.

(plate 8.)


In the end we picked each other clean.

(plate 15.)


Clarissa Beothy BELIEVE R

"An Iraqi woman allegedly recruited female suicide bombers by having them raped - then persuading them martyrdom was the only way to escape the shame. Samira Ahmed Jassim, who is also known by the nickname 'Umm al-Mumineen' (the mother of believers), is believed to be responsible for persuading more than 80 women to join her cause. She has been arrested by the military and was shown confessing in a video played for reporters at a press conference in Baghdad. The use of children and youths who don't know the difference between right and wrong

in terrorist attacks is inhumane and against all Islamic principles, the age of suicide bombers range from seven to 40, according to the article, which drew heavily from Pakistani police interrogations and interviews with suspected militants. Large suicide training camps operate in two categories: junior and senior camps."

"We all feel we are the victims of the suicide bombers. I (The artist) would like to explore the fact that the female bombers are also victims; of their faith and also of the men who rape the young girls in order that at that crisis point the older women can recruit them with the promise of some sort of redemption."




On the following pages is a collaborative project by

Lisa Stewart and Morwenna Morrison emerging from conversations shared about childhood experiences, inner fantasy worlds and loss of innocence.

the exhibition CHILD’S PLAY can be seen at the Penny MacBeth Gallery, in September 2011 7 Broad Street Penryn TR10 8JL Telephone 01326 377689 Open Tuesday - Friday 10.00am-5.30pm , Saturday 10.00am-1.00pm, Other times by appointment

Opposite The foreboding faceless figure formed from a wicker work armature, wears a black hooded cloak and skirt of cartridges, ready for the step into eternity 39

L i s a St e w a r t


My creative practice contains dark undertones relating to my unsettling childhood experiences. My formative years were spent observing first hand the raw and violent environment of a crime ridden 'red light area' in Africa. I have been exploring accumulated 'memory detritus', which seeps through unconsciously in a way similar to the Freudian concept of the 'Uncanny valley', where something can be familiar, yet foreign at the same time, resulting in a feeling of it being uncomfortably strange outside of familiar perceptions. I have also been inspired and fascinated by vegetable creatures viewed in country fairs, Jake and Dinos Chapman and the work of Victorian taxidermist Walter Potter who used small mounted mammals to create creepy scenes to make some very bizarre displays. I love creating 'The Funnees' and feel that once they are born they take on unique personalities and a life of their own.The images symbolically portray a personal journey.


Above Family! Clay and mixed media Opposite Cotlands Baby Sanctuary (In the beginning) Clay and mixed media 41


Above Visiting Clay and mixed media Above Opposite Growing up in Hillbrow Clay and mixed media Below Opposite Desperation in red light district Clay and mixed media 43

Right Learning a Lesson Clay and mixed media Above Sterkfontein Psychiatric Hospital Clay and mixed media



Morwenna Morrison Expurgating Innocence


In this present body of work I have explored the dangers, both real and perceived, of childhood. My work has always been strongly narrative following the life stories of friends and issues in the media so working with Lisa Stewart has been particularly relevant to me as she has had some pretty unique childhood experiences. My experience as the mother of a teenager has heightened my awareness of the insidious influence of the internet on her everyday life, from that first unfortunate investigation into adult sites (before I became aware of parental control), the fear of her talking to strangers on social sites and the constant stream of imagery, often violent or disturbing. As a parent I realise there is only so much you can protect your children from and how there are always new dangers out there one is unaware of. 47

My intention is for each painting to possess the seductive glossiness of an advertisement but with an underlying darkness that only becomes apparent upon closer scrutiny. The work is a puzzle with many layers of imagery and meaning evolving over time, often on a subconscious level. ‘Boom’ is loosely about internet grooming. The tank represents the sexual threat, often male. The hood on the child is reminiscent of the hoods placed on hostages and also those used to disguise the identity of Filipino child prostitutes testifying in court. The inferences are many and complex. On another level of the puzzle I like to include a nod to other artists whose iconic works are ingrained in our collective unconscious. The shapes behind the figures are recycled from Richard Hamilton’s ‘Interior II’ also ‘147’ has

Cy Twombly’s ‘Roses’ and ‘Night Life,’ Dexter Dalwood’s ‘Nietzsche's Chalet’. Every painting carries an ambiguous message; I want the viewer if possible to create their own story (or interpretation) about the piece. A selection of these pieces can be seen at Penny Macbeth’s gallery in Penryn, opening on July 1 2011.

Opposite ‘147’ Mixed media 180 x 150cm Above ‘BOOM’ Oil on canvas 180 x 150cm


Left ‘Love in the Latrines’ Oil on canvas 90 x 90cm Opposite ‘Pageant Queen’ Oil on canvas 48 x 60cm

Below ‘Brownie and Banana’ Oil on canvas 120 x 100cm


Above ‘Nightlife’ Oil on canvas 180 x 150cm 50


Left Consequences image Drawn & painted by Lisa Stewart

Consequences is an old parlour game, similar to the Surrealist game exquisite corpse. Exquisite corpse (also known as exquisite cadaver or rotating corpse) is a method by which a collection of words or images is assembled. Each person writes or draws on a sheet of paper, folds to conceal part of the writing or drawing, then passes it on to the next player for a further contribution. Each person adds to a composition in sequence, either by following a rule or by being allowed to see the end of what the previous person contributed. Surrealism’s principal founder Andre Breton reported that it started in fun, but became playful and eventually enriching. In a variant now known as picture consequences instead of sentences, portions of a person were drawn. 51

Later the game was adapted to drawing and collage, producing a result similar to children's books in which the pages were cut into thirds, the top third pages showing the head of a person or animal, the middle third the torso, and the bottom third the legs, with children having the ability to "mix and match" by turning pages. Want a good laugh on a rainy day? Try this. Each player writes, draws, paints part of the story on the piece of paper in front of them and then folds the paper so it’s hidden and hands it on with each turn. The structure of the story which each player needs to follow is as follows:

1)A description, such as “The hideous...” “The disturbed yet passive…” “The incredibly gorgeous…” etc. 2) A man’s name 3) Another description as above 4) A woman’s name 5) Where they met 6) What he gave him/her 7) What she/he said 8)What he/she said 9) What the consequence was 10) What the world said about it. Please email your results to so we can have a larf and publish the best ones in Artichoke issue 5




cornish art inside out.


cornish art inside out.