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Painting, drawing, films, stories, travel and other odds and ends
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First they came for the Spider plants…
an Interview with a Croton
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Interviewer: First of all, I’d like to welcome you to your new address, and to hope that you settle in easily and feel at home.
Croton: Thank you. I`m very glad to be here…
I: I’d like to start by asking you about your early life: what can you remember from your first days in the nursery?
C. My memories of this time are sometime very precise, sometimes hazy, and I’m sure that some of what I think of as recollections are really photographs that I have seen since then…however, I do have a strong impression of a large enclosure of hundreds of my fellow seedling Crotons in rows on trestle tables waiting for fresh doses of fertilizer, then our transportation in shallow trays to replanting in larger pots.
I remember the frequent inspections by the head gardener: a severe man in a peaked cap - always angry. Everyone was afraid when he came, the other gardeners included: he ‘d look over and shout: why is the soil so dry: Or did you forget to water this section? Look at this pathetic seedling! We`d sweat sap in fear.
The severity he meted to the assistant gardeners was, in turn, passed on to us. So, following the head’s visit, vicious actions, reprisals: weaker Croton seedlings uprooted, then cast into the composting bin… to be assaulted with pitchforks by a team of especially vicious trainee gardeners…or, contrary to every basic right, labeled with fluorescent tabs and sent to the discount section, joining a pathetic collection of sagging cacti, chipped ceramics and out of date insecticide. Needless to say, conditions in the discount section were brutal…
I: What happened to you after that?
C. We were numbered with barcodes, a humiliating experience. When we reached 7 cm we were divided into two groups: one for immediate shipping and another that would be kept until they reached 30 cm height, when they too would be deported.
Only very few of us were considered to have the potential to justify the extra investment in time and care that 30cm necessitated, so to qualify for this second group was considered an “honour”: we were, you might say, an “elite”.
I was selected for his group because of my exceptional leaf growth and stem fitness: I have aristocratic roots.
I. And?
Croton stops for a moment, to recover its bearings and receive a glass of water
I: What happened after the period in the nursery?
C. We were lined up for another inspection. Then we were placed in plastic sacks: these have a particular smell, sharp, chemical…. unforgettable, nauseous, it`ll stay with me for the rest of my life…Then into cardboard trays: each held exactly 18 Crotons, though at this point occasionally other plants were included : orchids, aspidistra, cacti.
I: How was that?
C. This mixing caused immense friction. Both the mixing and the separation from other Croton which, in the nursery we’d grown accustomed to, we'd bonded, become a kind of family. But now a definite rivalry, a pecking order emerged, with certain plants- especially orchids, assuming a superiority over the rest of us.
Isn’t it terrible that even among the subjugated there is hierarchy and further oppression? The oppressed imitate their oppressors, yes they do! And pass the same oppression down… and I do still have to work to try to understand the orchids…should we not be united against injustice?
Anyway… we were driven in dark trucks sometimes for several days, without water or fertilizer or proper light… of course, this is contrary to every basic right…we were taken to garden centres, supermarkets…conditions were not good…some of us did not make it. I was bought in a supermarket, then another journey this time by car, then a scorching balcony, then replanting…
A pause: Croton`s leaves droop.
You`ve been through so much. How do you process memories like that?
C. You can never truly overcome such experiences. You can, perhaps, attempt a form of forgiveness. And you must avoid rumination…and practice gratitude…of course. We must educate the young…you know, the system, the system has its rationale..the amoral rationale of Capitalism…but it’s the minor needless cruelties that I can't get my leaves around, the barbaric treatment of damaged or malformed plants…the mockery of junior staff…well, one tries to overcome this… forgiveness is always a process, to recognise with pity the reduced opportunities that our tormentors might have themselves have had…yes, I am a survivor, not a victim…but… it isn't easy….
And how are you adjusting to life here?
C. I’m settling in, trying to put down roots. I'm blessed with my caretaker - the most wonderful, kind man; anyone who met him would agree. But at first there were issues. I was placed on the balcony and my leaves became scorched. Then I was given the stool, where the Peace Lily once sat ….but, you know the Peace lily (sneers) Peace lily!, has been less than neighborly since…
How do you spend your time?
C. I am working on several projects- a book, and an educational programme for schools to increase plant rights awareness, especially awareness of genetically modified and trans plants, who you hear some say - fascists say- are not real plants- a marginalized group and disproportionately the victims of violence, even legal actions, attempts to de-plant them, to deny them their very plantiness, then ban them from public spaces. And, of course, I’m promoting spaces for personal growth, and natural healing where plants can speak and their voices heard…
I. Plant rights are still not given the attention they deserve…
C. That, sadly, is a bitter truth. There’re always protests when ancient forests are chopped down, but how many activists chain themselves to the rubber plants in Homebase? And maybe they complain about excessive fertilizer use on fields, but have you ever seen a protester repotting a geranium?
This story is so familiar, and yet it sometimes seems society has learnt nothing.
What can I add?...First they came for the Spider plants, but I did not speak out because I was not a Spider plant….?
Can you leave us with some words of hope?
C. I’ll leave you with an ancient African saying, which we might remember when we feel dispirited, “The best way to eat an elephant in your path is to cut it into many pieces' '. Every big problem can be made into many which, little by little, we shall overcome some day.
Interviewer and Croton sit for a moment in silence. A shaft of sunlight crosses the room, before resting on the Crotons foliage.
Thank you.
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There is much that is beautiful in the world and my objective here was to create something which people will find unappealing, without resorting to obviously repellent mimetics (representations of unappetising phenomena) or recourse to unpleasant symbolism (symbols associated morally dubious groups or individuals, such as the Nazi party).
I started with an unattractive material, blue tac, which has a grey colour. It has a slightly grainy texture. It also has an odd property which is that it can be stretched if warmed and pulled very slowly, and can also snap.
Thinking about it now though, the grey is actually quite nice, its a soft, grey leaning towards yellow. It would never be my favourite colour (which for the record is a marron red, or jade green or golden yellow depending on my mood) Maybe here a dirty pink would be better?
However, I would say that the texture of blu-tack here is not very pleasant, at least to me. I don`t know about you, but I`m really a smooth surfaces person. I always say no to rustic.
My blue tac has been formed into a sphere- or rather, an almost sphere. Such an almost form is, I think basically unsatisfying. I believe incompletion and irregularity are essentially unpleasing, unless they are given a specific context - i.e. a rough path surface which serves to provide a better grip, or the dissonance used in certain pieces of music by, say Mahler.
I added a blotch of blue tac to give an additional unpleasantness. Do you see how it looks a bit like a scab? I hope so. I`m breaking my rule of avoiding obviously unpleasant mimetics- here I admit it.
I also drove several (four) small holes in the surface with the matchstick before inserting it into a fifth. Arbitrariness has, I feel, a disturbing quality, the sense that there`s no rhyme or reason for something is annoying, pointlessly provocative. It is argued that one of the definitions of the classical in art is in completion, harmoniousness- so that no element can be added or removed without destroying this balance. I hope I have, in contrast, succeeded in creating a piece in which elements can be added, moved or removed without disturbing its essential quality, leaving its meaning- its ugliness - intact.
In addition, the act of puncturing the surface of the piece conveys an aggression towards the piece (perhaps a metaphor for self harm?) which I trust views will recoil from. Of course, there is an established tradition of the fragment in art, one of the many strange borrowings from the re-discovery of Greek art by Northern Europe in the 18th century, and which resulted in the deliberate production of fragmented pieces by forgers, and ultimately detached hands, heads faces- by Rodin and Brancusi among others.
But, in contrast to the considered fractioning of these masters, my action here is merely violent, conveying nothing more than the idle idiocy of the casual vandal, and I trust viewers will recoil from the sight of these four puncture holes.
I hope also that viewers will find the matchstick sticking up like that- basically stupid and pointless.
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It's nice to find something inside a box
1. A box. How curious. I wonder if it has anything inside?
Why not give it a little shake?
Ooooh...a faint rattling sound!
2. Now, push the little try. A glimpse of what's inside...
3. Whoah, what can that be?
4. A twist tie! So useful.
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This is the third from this avenue.
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Here is something I received from a shop. When the plump lady serving put my item (a small tube of green paint) in the bag I was extremely pleased.
Why were you pleased?
A. It was unexpected. In days when relations have a sorry predictability the unexpected is (almost) something to be grateful for in itself especially when it is also…
B. thoughtful. The lady obviously knew that the chances of losing the tube would be much higher if I were to carry undeveloped
C. I was so grateful that she did not use a plastic bag as I just find paper things more pleasant texturally
D. The quality of this particular envelope is noteworthy- reassuring slightly stiff- yes, a little unyielding. and dare I say somewhat old fashioned, so you might imagine that, were it to come to life, that it would speak in the manner of a retired military man, a mid-ranking officer, the sort that make appearances in David Lean films.
E. The colour is extremely pleasing. So much packaging seems to feel the need to shout, to demand attention. By contrast the self assured modesty of this envelope is so pleasing British. British, that is, in a way which does still just about exist, with that quality of calm reserve? A country whose coins and postage stamps do not carry its name.
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