Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Further into the distance, at a less vertigo inducing altitude, the Swing Bridge pivots on its own little concrete island, which bisects the channel neatly forming two passages for the river traffic. Unfortunately, one of the most iconic structures, the double decked, dual car and train High Level Bridge is out of commission for motor vehicles and pedestrians alike, until May 2008, shrouded in plastic sheeting, hiding renovation work from the eyes of the world.
We had arrived in this city over the equally tall rail bridge, pulling into the Central Station on Friday evening, after the marathon journey from Reading. A walk around the metropolis this morning reveals that the land rises steeply on both the Gateshead and Newcastle sides, so that the centres sit on their respective hills, but with the iron arms of the bridges linked in friendship, or at least mutual respect, across the water. The city seems drawn to the river as a result, but years of decline in the traditional industries have left this artery devoid of life. As it establishes itself as a tourist centre, more traffic will use this oasis, but at present it is like a motorway with no cars.
In a dominant position in Gateshead, sits the Owen Luder Partnership's 'Get Carter' car park in all of its Sixies brutalist glory. I hadn't realised just how prominently it is visible on the skyline until I saw it for myself. But just as Portsmouth with its OLP Tricorn Centre, now demolished, is re-inventing itself, so too is Gateshead transforming itself into the cultural capital of the region.
After tasty tapas at La Tasca, a restaurant near our hotel, we headed over the Millennium Bridge to the Baltic Centre, a former flour mill that had had its brick clad form punched through with six huge stories containing the best contemporary art that the region could muster. On the ground and in the level two galleries were masters of 'pixel' painting, Ian Stephenson and James Hugonin: the former layering tiny dots on tiny dots on an enormous scale, creating a sea of colour which seemed three dimensional. The lighter colours appeared to float above the surface of the painting. James Hugonin uses pixels of a different kind, working within a silver-point etched gessoe grid of alternating narrow and wide bands. The resulting rectangles are filled with colour according to a carefully ordered progression, which aims to mimic the light and form found in nature around his Northumbrian studio. He has been painting this way for twenty years, producing work of subtlety and gently flowing movement: organic matter growing from a geometric core.
The upper two floors have startlingly different work. On floor three is the photo and video art of Sam Taylor-Wood. Her shots of her own suspended form from which all trace of support has been magically erased, produce a sort of extreme sensual ballet, captured at an instant by her lens. Sam's video work captures surreal images: a sleeping David Beckham, a cellist playing a digitally doctored cello, stop motion still lives decaying before your eyes.
In don't think I have ever been handed a health and safety warning for a work of art before, but that is exactly what happened prior to entering Wang Du's Space-Time Tunnel. You have to mount steps rising up from the gallery floor to meet the entrance to this crazy installation, with its snaking tube filled with a babel of TVs, overloading your senses and causing your legs to lose their normal capacity to convey you upright, without losing your balance. The sting is in the tail of this work: having climbed first down then up within it, you must get back to ground level and what better way than to slide on your butt, so that you arrive giggling and screaming like a child on the gallery floor.
In the evening we headed to Norman Foster's transparent maggot-like Sage Concert Hall, also on the cultural South Bank in Gateshead, to hear the Northern Sinfonia and Chorus, and their rendition of Zadok the Priest. The venue's acoustics are truly astonishing. The solo unamplified voice of the Radio Three presenter could be heard plainly at the back of the hall where we were sitting. The power of the combined voices and orchestra brougt the emotion of the piece alive - echoing the Coronation of King George II for which it was written.
The next piece was less well known, by Finzi: 'Dies Natalis', but had shadows of Vaughan-Williams, who was a friend and obviously a strong influence. The second half was given over to Britten's 'St Nicholas' and this wide ranging and dynamically modern work demanded not only a large orchestra with timpani, but also piano duo, tenor solo voice plus lone boy soprano supported later in the piece by three contemporaries. Even one chorus was not sufficient, as they were augmented by female voices from the cathedral choir. The whole effect was mesmerising and brought the day to a fantastic finale.
This land of hard-edged structures had a soft soul of music and art - you would be mad to miss it.
Friday, June 09, 2006
As I sit on this Virgin train, fuelled by tea, soft drinks and with more Pete Tong podcasts than I can shake my Ipod at, I am struck by the lush beauty of England in flag-waving, World-cup worshipping glory. The occasion? A trip to Newcastle to celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary, taking in a concert at the Sage, and surveying the Millennium Bridge from our hotel room.
Patriotism is everywhere, and anticipation is at fever pitch, but the golden evening sun illuminates the pastures and the urban landscapes equally and there is a tranquility which descends over Rooney's land. We are spoilt of course: our seats are First class, courtesy of a school fete prize, which means that a waiter brings us our drinks whilst we idle the hours away.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
It seems like history is repeating itself, as I continue to worry about how I can help save the planet. Some months ago, I wrote about the Stealthgen, a wind-powered generator that you could attach to your house, to save using fossil fuels to power your home. Then some bloke called David Cameron got one and the I just seemed to go off the idea, I cannot think why. I may be a closet green, but I am definitely not blue.
So, I was re-thinking the idea and it struck me that thinking big might be the answer. Instead of a small wind turbine on my house, how about one the size of several houses stacked atop each other, but parked on some convenient lofty and windy location. I am not being greedy. This wouldn't be used to feed some power-crazed habit, but to supply the whole local community - a few roads around where I live. I have even found some people in Wales who have done just that, near the Centre for Alternative Technology, and have posted information on how they did it. That's the power of internet communication for you - there is always a shared experience from which to learn.
Having watched one of the BBC's climate chaos programmes, starring David Attenborough however, I am thinking that even that isn't going to be good enough to avoid the impending catastrophe. What we need is a whole wind farm to supply a large proportion of Newbury's electrical power needs. The downside is that with each scaling up of this project, the degree of difficulty and the number of people who must be convinced that this is a good idea goes up and up. To me it is self evident but I too have a habit of jumping from problem to solution missing out all that argument stuff that goes on in between.