precarious, samba solo exhibition, till 13 Dec. 2024 at Redcar Contemporary art gallery

 Samba, three old women in Japanese, was formed by three of us who all went University in our 50s and studied Fine Art amongst young UG students. We met through the TESTT studio space in Durham and worked together through group exhibitions focusing on Sustainability and Climate Change. However, we couldn’t realise our first solo exhibition planned in 2019 due to the Pandemic.  Last year, for the first time since the Pandemic, we worked together on the Knitted Christmas Tree project and finally, we are putting this small but for us, very significant Samba solo exhibition, Precarious raising our concern over nuclear bombing.     

When I was a young girl in primary school, our teacher brought a thick photo book to class and asked us to pass it around. I can’t even remember exactly what year I was in, but the intense sensation and fear I felt from the images in that book remain vivid decades later. Most of us only managed to look at a couple of pages before passing it along. The page I saw showed a girl about our age, her face blackened and burned, covered in thick, horrible keloids. Her skin and flesh, melted by the intense heat, hung from her bones like a slimy substance, slipping down toward the ground.

It was a brave—and some might say controversial—decision for our teacher to show such shocking images to young children. But I appreciate it deeply. One clever, somewhat cheeky boy in the class proudly announced, “The Americans used the atomic bombs to end the war sooner.” That’s what most of us were made to believe until recently, when formerly strictly confidential U.S. documents revealed another perspective.

Hiroshima is not far from my hometown, and I’ve visited the Atomic Bomb Memorial Park and museums many times. The park is always filled with tens of thousands of paper cranes, folded by people praying for the dead and for world peace. There’s a simple memorial stone overlooking the Atomic Dome, one of the few structures that survived the blast because it was made from steel and stone, unlike the typical Japanese wooden buildings. Inscribed on the stone are the words: “Please rest in peace. We will never make this mistake again.”

My work ‘Under the Cloud’ was triggered by the film Oppenheimer, which received numerous Oscar awards. The movie focuses on J. Robert Oppenheimer, the man who pushed for the creation of the atomic bomb and urged President Truman to drop two different types of bombs on Japan. The film portrays him as a complicated hero. But watching the scene of scientists and officials cheering for Oppenheimer’s success transported me back to my primary school classroom—to that deep fear and sadness I felt as a child. The river that once carried the burned bodies of those who sought water in desperation after the bombing now hosts tourists rowing boats, unaware of its history. Today, even young Japanese people admire the movie’s actor, celebrating him without fully understanding the legacy of his character.

That’s when I knew I had to create this work. I want people to remember and not forget what the Japanese people experienced: the horror of nuclear bombs, and the horror of humanity’s disregard for others.   

Under the Cloud Part I, Painting

Pastel on Canvas

130cm x 180cm

2024

TBD

My work is often informed by a feeling of precariousness and is usually sculptural. It is often created with found objects which are not neutral but invested with a memorable past. These particular porcelain objects were found during field walks and are pieces of household detritus representative of what could be left when lives are cut short by events.

I first became aware of the knife edge between ‘all’s well’ and painful chaos when as a child the Aberfan disaster came on the news. I was in a primary school in a pit village,  no different from the children  who suffocated in a coal heap landslide. We were the generation after the war brought up on the stories where huge, politically inspired events led to grievous,  life changing personal losses.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki were part of the story but , though distant, even then  recognised as unique and significant.
 The significance grew as we lived through the nuclear threat of the Cold War, received our Protect and Survive booklets and went on, at university, to question and then campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.

The Fall of the Berlin Wall seemed to ease tensions but this has been reversed by the recent and ongoing wars involving nuclear holding powers and the rise of the ‘strong man’ leader and rogue states.
 My work has been informed by the above personal
history but also by  an exhibition at the Durham Oriental Museum
on the anniversary of Nagasaki and Hiroshima and recently by the film, Oppenheimer. Finally, the award  of the Nobel Peace Prize to Japanese survivors, campaigning for  awareness reminded me that it isn’t just about politics and a sense of unease but possible and actual massive suffering for real people and our ecosystems-concern for which appeared not to be  in the calculations that ‘raced’, celebrated and released those bombs.

There is a  “misconception” that a nuclear bomb means “a flash and a bang and it's all over”
but in even the most severe  scenario more people are going to survive than perish immediately. There will be instant  death but also long, drawn-out suffering for many people and our planet.

The film Oppenheimer told the story of the atomic race and the resulting ‘small town’ American euphoria after  ‘winning’ the race  and then celebrating with what became historically inappropriate Miss Atomic Bomb  Pageants and touristy trips to view the  test bombs as if they were natural events like the Northern Lights.

This joint exhibition and my work is a reminder that even if the bombs are strangely beautiful there is no beauty in war where real  people suffer.

As always I like my depiction of  precariousness to disturbing but also laced with some hope.
 Some would say the hope is that the sheer horror of nuclear warfare now  acts as a deterrent,  however, that only works if we are prepared to highlight and remember the real life consequences and take into account the ugly side of humankind that can let itself  ‘look away’ or even celebrate ‘the win’.

Finding Hope I, II, III

Porcelain and mixed media 

2024

 Next year, 2025,  marks 80 years since the dropping of the nuclear bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima during the Second World War.  My work is  a response to this landmark anniversary, the dangers of nuclear energy used as a weapon, and the precarious nature of current world events. 

‘Soft Furnishing’ ‘ is intended as an interactive work. It is an invitation to sit, and to arrange the cushions for comfort. There are six cushions in total. Each one has been hand printed in a floral design, but with a different black and white image on the opposing side. Nuclear is the reference point for all of the images portrayed. The use of UV light seeks to convey a sense of unseen, but dangerous contamination. It seeks to convey fears for the future, and act as a reminder of past horrors.