the working process and studio practice: new art from past art
Gareth Griffith
Griffith lives in Mynydd Llandegai, where his studio is high up in the mountains with coastal views. He has exhibited recently at Mostyn (Open and Tent) and at St David’s Hall, Cardiff. Griffith is one of the foremost painter/sculptors in the region and brings a highly individual approach to making, questioning established methods and thinking.
Gareth Griffith is working with
The organ was commissioned by Sir Watkin Williams-Wynn (1749-89) for the music room of his London house, 20 St James's Square, and made by John Snetzler, the case being designed by the architect Robert Adam.
Organamana
Organs are very complicated musical machines which are umbilically linked to the Christian religion. They require a very high level of skill for their construction and maintenance. I grew up in a musically sparse household with tone deaf parents, my dad was fond of a very shy pianist called Charlie Koons who featured on a radio program called Workers Playtime, I used to like the guy who played the musical saw and Ronnie Ronalde the bird impersonator. So as a musical late developer, an atheist, but not practising, with a catholic taste in all things visual, and lacking in certain making skills the Cardiff organ seemed the right choice. All I can say is that it had the kind of presence that would provide a starting point for reinvention am deconstruction. The reasons why we make things are obscure and plagued with contradictions. One thing is for sure, is that the making of art is consciously structured as a result of conceptual and visual decisions.
A friend described to me the impossibly deep and disturbing, almost tangible, sound of the great organ in the Anglican cathedral in Liverpool, and I have heard something similar myself. I recently heard a young girl play one of Bach s cello suites, it did not seem to matter that most of the notes were wrong, it was very moving, similarly the wrong notes on the organ can move you to ears at a funeral. I have a natural affinity with awkwardness. Certain initial lines of enquiry led to blind alleys -the studio is a place where the Donald Crowhurst syndrome can kick in. I remembered being told about an organ factory back in Liverpool in the 60's by a fellow student, so to give this business a serious kick start I decided to visit the restorers and makers Henry Willis and sons at their workshop there. Two visits, along with the film maker Greg Byatt and Morgan Griffith, artist, provided the catalyst for this work. One of the oldest organ makers in Europe the workshop is a really inspiring place, where highly skilled craftsmen work on the guts of the organ.
Such skill can also be daunting, or at least remind you of your own limitations. I was therefore drawn to "utilitarian bespoke artefacts, made from to hand materials- designed to assist in the making process, from simple "pushers ,for guiding wood through machine planers and saws to more complex aids. One such being a large bellows blower resembling Max Ernst's elephantine vacuum on wheels. Consisting of two wooden boxes and a dexion frame with interconnecting duct tubes, its purpose being to test the organ pipes for the correct sound and tone. When I saw this I laid claim to it, the only way to even approximate possession was to make one myself. I was lucky in acquiring just the right kind of ply from a dismantled climbing wall and some found dexion etc. At the moment of writing this the work is still in progress with the large piece basically realised and the sound being worked on. From the beginning sound was the constant factor. Long with the Blower I am exhibiting smaller related works and drawings. The film is not a documentation, but a work in itself and says a lot more than this statement..