15 October 1998 Edition
Releasing the prisoners' art
A unique art exhibition took place recently in Derry: an exhibition of art by ex-POWs from Tyrone and Derry was displayed throughout the home of ex-POW Stephen Donnelly.
Much of the material for this exhibition could be found in thousands of homes across Ireland, particularly in the Six Counties. Moving through the house, one saw stone carvings of Celtic gods, calendars linking other people's struggle to Ireland's, and of course, many political posters and art objects.
The enemy's technology of war was represented, with a collection of plastic bullets and rare photographs of Bloody Sunday. Stephen's bedroom was transformed into a H-Block cell during the no-wash era. The H-Block cells provided wallpaper via framed comms and, on an A4 page, anonymous lecture notes on the history of Ireland and the world. A torn foam mattress, the paintbrush of the protest lay below brown-clotted walls and recalled a grim reality. Outside the cell, two very different worlds were linked via art: posters of the hunger strike and POWs' drawings sent out and drawings by children sent inside.
Travelling through the rooms of this exhibition was a journey not only through Irish history, but through individual and community history for the last 30 years. Historic messages on toilet roll, history lectures on a scrap of paper, hankies, carved harps and jewellery - these items are familiar. People smiled to see a handbag made by a now well-known Sinn Fein negotiator, or the small cast-iron frog which spent six years in Long Kesh with its owner.
Such prison art has been marvelled at, remarked upon as a human achievement overcoming conditions of incredible hardship and depravation. But this art has a message. It challenges the 20th century Western notion that human success is based on material success and possession acquired. This art bears witness that success in life can be measured by how well a person builds the community. Success is building and nurturing the community, and ensuring that it lives and prospers no matter what outside threats range against it. Success in this realm is open to everyone.
In prison cells and on the streets, activists and ordinary people educated themselves, and together created strategies that withstood the worst a well-experienced imperial enemy threw at us. A spirit was created which carried a community through to the edge of self-determination.
This is political art - the art of a people. It speaks in a unique way about people's experience. It is a part of a larger tradition of Celtic art. Stephen Donnelly, whose idea this exhibition was, pointed out, ``we have lost, or been denied, a great deal of information about our own roots by being divorced from Celtic art. This exhibition introduces and explains some themes basic to Celtic art. Certain themes are especially significant, such as interlacing, which has no beginning and no end. The imitations, the so-called popularisation of Celtic art, typified by Jim Fitzpatrick, destroy this meaning. Real art encourages people to do true art, not tracings or imitations. It doesn't have to be a pretty picture to be art; it has to originate from experience.''
He continued, ``everyone now knows of Newgrange, a Celtic astronomical building older than the pyramids. Newgrange was a highly accurate calendar. People should ask; where did the people who built Newgrange go? How did their tradition evolve? Where is it today? Does anyone really believe that the people who built Newgrange just moved on? They haven't gone away, you know!''
This exhibition has many levels of meaning. The need for such exhibitions is growing daily. Stephen tells how stunned he was by the comment of a 16 year old Derry youth looking at a photo of Bloody Sunday ``I didn't know about that''.
Donnelly said, ``It's time we looked in our attics, dusted off the handicrafts, and begin to believe that what our POWs made is art. Put it on show and be proud of it! Then we can start trying to understand its message.''
The exhibition ends with one of the lines of a letter written on toilet roll, ``Am I ever getting out?''.
Stephen said, ``perhaps we should ask the same question about our art''.
By Martha McClelland
Much of the material for this exhibition could be found in thousands of homes across Ireland, particularly in the Six Counties. Moving through the house, one saw stone carvings of Celtic gods, calendars linking other people's struggle to Ireland's, and of course, many political posters and art objects.
The enemy's technology of war was represented, with a collection of plastic bullets and rare photographs of Bloody Sunday. Stephen's bedroom was transformed into a H-Block cell during the no-wash era. The H-Block cells provided wallpaper via framed comms and, on an A4 page, anonymous lecture notes on the history of Ireland and the world. A torn foam mattress, the paintbrush of the protest lay below brown-clotted walls and recalled a grim reality. Outside the cell, two very different worlds were linked via art: posters of the hunger strike and POWs' drawings sent out and drawings by children sent inside.
Travelling through the rooms of this exhibition was a journey not only through Irish history, but through individual and community history for the last 30 years. Historic messages on toilet roll, history lectures on a scrap of paper, hankies, carved harps and jewellery - these items are familiar. People smiled to see a handbag made by a now well-known Sinn Fein negotiator, or the small cast-iron frog which spent six years in Long Kesh with its owner.
Such prison art has been marvelled at, remarked upon as a human achievement overcoming conditions of incredible hardship and depravation. But this art has a message. It challenges the 20th century Western notion that human success is based on material success and possession acquired. This art bears witness that success in life can be measured by how well a person builds the community. Success is building and nurturing the community, and ensuring that it lives and prospers no matter what outside threats range against it. Success in this realm is open to everyone.
In prison cells and on the streets, activists and ordinary people educated themselves, and together created strategies that withstood the worst a well-experienced imperial enemy threw at us. A spirit was created which carried a community through to the edge of self-determination.
This is political art - the art of a people. It speaks in a unique way about people's experience. It is a part of a larger tradition of Celtic art. Stephen Donnelly, whose idea this exhibition was, pointed out, ``we have lost, or been denied, a great deal of information about our own roots by being divorced from Celtic art. This exhibition introduces and explains some themes basic to Celtic art. Certain themes are especially significant, such as interlacing, which has no beginning and no end. The imitations, the so-called popularisation of Celtic art, typified by Jim Fitzpatrick, destroy this meaning. Real art encourages people to do true art, not tracings or imitations. It doesn't have to be a pretty picture to be art; it has to originate from experience.''
He continued, ``everyone now knows of Newgrange, a Celtic astronomical building older than the pyramids. Newgrange was a highly accurate calendar. People should ask; where did the people who built Newgrange go? How did their tradition evolve? Where is it today? Does anyone really believe that the people who built Newgrange just moved on? They haven't gone away, you know!''
This exhibition has many levels of meaning. The need for such exhibitions is growing daily. Stephen tells how stunned he was by the comment of a 16 year old Derry youth looking at a photo of Bloody Sunday ``I didn't know about that''.
Donnelly said, ``It's time we looked in our attics, dusted off the handicrafts, and begin to believe that what our POWs made is art. Put it on show and be proud of it! Then we can start trying to understand its message.''
The exhibition ends with one of the lines of a letter written on toilet roll, ``Am I ever getting out?''.
Stephen said, ``perhaps we should ask the same question about our art''.
By Martha McClelland