I have been painting for 40 years but I have spent the last 4 seasons concentrating on the Coulissen landscape of the Achterhoek.
In the tradition of the impressionists, I venture out, often on my bike, to paint directly from nature.
I paint with a sense of urgency because I have to respond quickly without preparatory sketches, the whole process happens on the canvas. My paintings are a record of the passing of time as shown by the changes in light, the wind blowing and it can of course rain.
Observing from life is like listening to a story unfold into details I could have never imagined. The minute I start to observe it is as if the speed in which things change accelerates and the complexities increase. I become the camera capturing thousands of real time moments, every step to be decided by me.
This requires “craft” a word often frowned upon in certain circles of the art world, however craft to me is essential. I make marks to explain the space I am standing in and record the textures of the surfaces, temperature and light fall. The paint can act like the surfaces it is portraying by either absorbing or reflecting light. There is an element of constraint needed in getting the proportions right. The relationship between the objects and spaces I am viewing have to be right as I believe that it is essential in capturing the poetics of the space I am viewing.
However the physical truth of my paintings is a vehicle for other stories and interpretations to come to light, often found at locations where one might easily just pass by the ordinary but actually the extraordinary. By observing and recording, I feel I can lift the painted image to a different place which asks the viewer whether these are direct observations or rather stage sets revealing other possibilities.
Note from Gavin weightman: Jim Harris is my nephew whose art I admire. You can see more of Jim's art at http://jimharris.nl/
The stories of the discovery of survivors in the rubble nine days after the tsunami bulldozed whole townships in Japan are a reminder to all rescue teams that, even when hope is fading, they should remain alert to the slightest signs of life. This was a lesson learned in London during the Blitz when after every air raid there were people trapped alive in bombed out buildings. Finding and excavating survivors after a raid fell to the Heavy Rescue teams composed chiefly of men too old to fight but with knowledge of the building trades and still vigorous enough to pick their way through rubble. They had nothing in the way of sophisticated search equipment but evolved a way of working which is still of value. Firstly, they tried not to disturb the flimsy structures of collapsed buildings by trampling over them. They moved very cautiously using a kind of careful "pick-a-stick" approach. And then, at regular intervals, there would be a call for silence, an appeal would be made to anyone trapped to make themselves heard, and everyone would listen intently. When a voice was heard the task of excavation could take many hours as the rescuers worked their way through the mass of bricks and timber. Sometimes miners put in a form of pit prop to burrow into the rubble. There were some truly astonishing stories of survival, including two I came across while researching my book Rescue. Writing just after the end of the war a doctor recalled in the British Medical Journal the gruesome discovery of the dead and the living in the ruins of a row of houses which had cellars used as shelters during air raids. The bomb had dropped at 1 am on a Thursday morning (the report does not say which month or year) and it was known that there families asleep in the house. An elderly lady was found alive at 6pm on the Friday but she died of her injuries. The Rescue team went on searching, calling for silence, and at 7pm on the Sunday there heard a voice deep in the rubble. The doctor was sent for. "On arrival made contact with the trapped girl, one of my own patients, Miss F.B. aged twenty-one, whose voice could faintly be heard, obviously at some distance below the surface. She told me her name, that she knew her father and mother were dead, and that she was quite immobile except for a little movement of the left hand. It was completely astonishing to find her completely intelligent, and throughout the six hours before she was finally removed at 1am on Monday–exactly 96 hours from the time she was first trapped–she retained her intelligence and was of great help in guiding the rescue squad in their difficult task." As bits and pieces of debris were removed the doctor was able to feed the woman water through a tube and later some tea and a " third of a grain of morphine". They discovered that she was face down in a crouching position and that her dead father was lying across her back. To get her out they had to burrow in sideways and ease away her father's corpse. She made a full recovery and told them that her father had survived for two days and they could both hear the rescue workers above them. But there was too great a thickness of rubble for their cries of help to be heard. It was only when some layers had been removed that they could respond to the call for silence. As the woman was being finally released she told them they had heard a woman calling out next door and she believed she was still alive. When the rescue team began to search for this other survivor they soon made contact. She said she was walking about in the cellar with her baby, which was not very well, but that she had some bottles of milk. When they finally found her they discovered that her baby was dead and she was completely trapped on a staircase but in her delirium imagined she was free and her child alive. The woman was 34 years old her son, clutched in her arms, just three. When she recovered she thought the boy had lived for two days. She too could hear the rescuers but they could not hear her. Though new listening devices have become available, as well as sniffer dogs and infra-red cameras which pick up body heat, the surest way of looking survivors is still the call for silence. During the blitz the heavy rescue squads developed a great many techniques for tunnelling in to rubble and these were passed on to Civil Defence units after the war when Britain began to make plans to withstand a nuclear attack. Those Civil Defence manuals were still in use around the world when my Rescue book was published in 1996 and I expect they still are today. I would imagine some of the lessons learned in the Blitz are being put into practice in Japan today as the search goes on for survivors.
We tend to fall in love with new technologies and to imagine that in no time they will solve all our problems. In the autumn of 1881 the pretty Surrey town of Godalming pioneered a public supply of electric lighting with a generator powered by a watermill on the river Wey. This, thought a correspondent for The Daily Telegraph was the beginning of a new gas and coal free era in civilisation. Wey ahead of his time, you might say: " It has been reserved for little Godalming to turn its river, the slender and rippling Wey, into a piece of machinery, and set it, just like any other mechanical servant to the task of lighting the streets....The days when gas companies can pump into our houses a noxious, explosive vapour like carburetted hydrogen, through uncertain machines called meters and charge an abnormally extortionate price for it are numbered. ...We shall not want the stoke and the collier so much if only the example set by the good people of Godalming be followed. "The waterfalls, millheads and rivers will quietly be making all our electricity by day and we shall be consuming it as easily at night, or the winds and tides will be made to labour for us. Nature in all her varied moods will be called in to help us fight against the dark, and we shall be able eventually to turn night into day by the bright lights which Nature herself kindles for us. " Sadly, when the river Wey flooded the generator ceased to turn and a steam engine had to be brought in. It was too expensive to run and within four years the gas lamps were back on in Godalming. This was a story I researched from my book Children of Light: how electricity changed Britain for ever. Another was the dawn of another technology which promised to free us from dependence on coal and gas: atomic energy. At the official opening of Calder Hall, the world's first industrial scale nuclear power station in 1956, Her Majesty the Queen said: " As the power begins to flow into the National Grid all of us here know that we are present at the making of history. For many years now we have been aware that atomic scientists, by a series of brilliant discoveries, have brought us to the threshold of a new age. We have also known that, on that threshold, mankind has reached a point of crisis. Today we are, in a sense, seeing a solution of that crisis as this new power, which has proved itself to be such a terrifying weapon of destruction, is harnessed for the first time for the common good of our community. " Calder Hall, sited in the wilds of Cumbria, was not, in fact, built just to produce electricity. Its reactors enriched uranium to supply the material for Britain's" independent nuclear deterrent. " The heat generated in this process was used to turn it into a glorified steam engine. Chapman Pincher, star reporter of the Daily Express, was there in October when the power was turned on: " The giant uranium furnace which has been producing high-pressure steam for more than a month was secretly linked with the dynamos last week. Top men of the project stood by as steam roared through the turbines, and the dynamos began to hum. As the output mounted, more lamps, more heaters, and more machines were fed with the new power on which so much of Britain's industrial future is being staked." The production of what Pincher called " atomic electricity" was exciting, promising a bright future. There appeared to be no concerns about safety, which is perhaps surprising as Calder Hall was opened just eleven years after the terrible destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945 by atomic bombs. Among scientists at the time there was a confidence that the dreadful power of nuclear fission could be reigned in and promised a wonderful future for the post-war world. " More power for Britain–in the nick of time" was the headline of a piece in the left-wing News Chronicle, the paper my parents used to buy, heralding a piece by the President-Elect of the British Association, Professor P.M.S. Blackett in which he wrote: " It is nearly true to say that the prosperity of any nation is proportional to the energy at its disposal Vastly more energy will be needed to maintain and advance the prosperity in the next few decades than can easily be got from coal. For the world as whole, nuclear power has come at the right time: for Britain only just in time. " Professor Blackett waxed lyrical: " The world in which our children and grandchildren will live depends on our efforts, now and on the legacy of material power and scientific and technical know-how which we bequeath to them. The houses they will live in, the clothes they will wear, the health they will enjoy, the leisure in which they will be able to cultivate and appreciate the worthwhile and beautiful things of life......all these things will depend on our material command over nature and especially on the amount of energy we can extract from the natural world. " Only a year after the inauguration of power at Calder Hall, a graphite core in the nearby Windscale reactor caught fire. The same children who had come to see the Queen open the nuclear power station were told they could not drink the milk from local dairy herds. High counts of radioactive iodine had been found and milk from farms within a radius of 200 miles of Windscale was poured down the drain. Even after the fire and the milk ban, the leak of radioactivity was not considered to be very serious. Dr. W.G.Marley, head of the health physics division at the atomic research station at Harwell, was quoted in the Times as saying that the radioactivity resulting from the leak was considerably less than the “background level” in many other parts of the world–particularly India and Brazil. The chief atomic safety officer, Mr F.R. Farmer, reported that only two people living in the area had taken advantage of the offer to be medically examined. Only a few employees at Windscale were contaminated, said Mr Farmer, and in most cases a wash with soap and water was enough to give them a clean bill of health. What confidence there was then in the ability of scientists and engineers to tame the awful destructive power of nuclear fission. Certainly Japan, only a few years after the horror of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was investing in nuclear power, confident that its peaceful use would not endanger the nation intent on rapid recovery and economic advance.
I might as well inaugurate my Blog with a bee in my bonnet. There has been an awful lot written in the past year about the "baby boom" generation born after the end of the war in 1945. Two books began a journalistic frenzy in which I, and few million others, are accused of indulging in a kind of unwitting exploitation of the nation's resources. Born in 1945 I am, according to the popular accounts currently in circulation, a "baby boomer". My contention is that I am not. The year I was born was not a bumper year for babies. Nor was 1948, or 49, or 50, or 51, or 52, or 53, or 54, or 55 or 56. Yet David Willetts author of The Pinch: How the Baby Boomers took their Childrens' Future ( Atlantic 2010) and Francis Beckett who wrote What did the baby boomers ever do for us? ( Biteback 2010) believe they are baby boomers: Willetts was born in 1956 and Beckett in the same year as me. Whatever else the "baby boomer" debate is about it is predicated on the notion that there was, after the end of the last war, a sustained rise in births which produced a population bulge. This is certainly what happened in North America between 1945 and 1964. But it did not happen here. I am going to demonstrate this with figures for England and Wales as it is simpler than totting up the totals for the UK. But if you add in Scotland and North Ireland the pattern is exactly the same. In fact it is quite remarkable how the rise and fall in annual births goes in tandem in all three registration areas. So here are some basic facts about live births, year by year, in England and Wales beginning with 1943 to illustrate that there were more births in that war year and 1944 than there were in 1945. I have put the two post-war boom years in bold. Year Total of live births in England and Wales: 1943 - 684,334 1944 - 751,478 1945 - 679,937 (Birth Year of Francis Beckett) 1946 - 820,719 1947 - 881,026 1948 - 775,306 1949 - 730,518 1950 - 697,097 1951 - 677,529 1952 - 673,735 1953 - 684,372 1954 - 673,651 1955 - 667,811 1956 - 700,335 ( Birth year of David Willetts ) 1957 - 723,381 1958 - 740,715 1959 - 748,501 1960 - 785,005 1961 - 811,281 1962 - 838,736 1963 - 854,055 1964 - 875,972 A glance at the sequence of annual births will tell you that, with the exception of 1946 and 1947, there was no baby boom in the immediate post war years. If there is a boom at all it begins in 1956 and peaks in 1964. So the classic " baby boomer" from a bumper year was born in the early 1960s. And yet nearly every piece written about the boom generation has them as teenagers in the 1960s. Tony Blair, we are told, is a baby boomer. He was born in the Coronation Year 1953. Have a look at the figures: not a bumper year. Many fewer babies in fact than were born in the latter part of the 1960s. Some more figures: Year Live births in England and Wales: 1965 - 862,725 1966 - 849,823 1967 - 832,164 1968 - 819,272 1969 - 797,538 1970 - 784,486 1971 - 783,155 1972 - 725,440 1973 - 675,953 Of course the "baby boomer" thesis is not just about numbers: it is argued that those born during the first twenty years after the war were favoured in many ways with full employment and so on. Perhaps there is some truth in that, though our standard of living in terms of domestic comfort would nowadays be considered primitive. But if we were favoured it was because we were, in terms of births, a relatively compact generation. With the exception of 1946 and 1947, when the soldiers returned to the arms of their wives and lovers, the parents of the imaginary baby boom generation showed remarkable restraint.