So yesterday was the 40th birthday of the An Lanntair ( Arts centre) in Stornaway. This was celebrated with an exhibition of forty pieces from local artists who had previously shown their work throughout the years.
It was the usual private view shindig with wine, whiskey, canapes and a herd of people who would have looked at home at an event in Dalston, complete with slightly too short trousers and big boots, though with an added splash of wool ( in particular a splendid gentleman with a gorgeous orange guernsey style jersey that I am still thinking about the next morning.) You got the feeling that everyone knew everyone and they probably did, and I sort of wished I had been in their gang ( by chance I was wearing orange woolly socks but nobody noticed).
I wonder how far everyone had travelled to get there, as one of the things I have been very aware of is how much driving I am doing to get to places. It’s similar to my time on Vancouver Island where it was a good twenty minute drive to the nearest store (or thirty to a monstrous shopping mall) and here even going into Stornaway is a good forty five minute drive each way (albeit a glorious one on the off chance I have picked the tiny window when it isn’t raining). Driving home in the dark was a little challenging the first time I did it, mostly because there was a gale force wind and Wolf’s windscreen wipers aren’t quite up to the job of coping with torrential rain. One of the ( many) interesting facts about the Isle of Lewis is that the sheep prefer to sleep in the middle of the road. A fact that was quite startling the first time as I assumed somebody had run them over. But now I simply slow down, toot the horn and one by one they stagger up onto their feet and waddle out of the way. Having been here for a week I have learnt where they will be as they always sleep just beyond the blind summit just as you get to the bridge so I adjust my speed accordingly beforehand. As the chances of me speaking to a human being once I get home are slim I always wish the sheep a good night. Just as I always say good morning to the seal and to Wolf. No answer from either obviously, but you work with what you are given.
The exhibition was a mixture of paintings, sculpture, photographs, video, the usual, but there was a definite theme that ran through them all, even the ones I didn’t like ( the garish oil of a space sip amongst the Callanish standing stones for example) but there was so much of the sea and an earthiness in pretty much all of them that I really liked. And I must admit I am really loving the gaelic which is so beautiful to listen to and to read even though I don’t understand a word, but if you wanted a language that sounds like the wind and the sea and the soil it would be a strong contender, in my humble opinion.
The second part of the evening was a showing of the 1985 Scottish film “ Restless Natives” , the best bit being that the admission fee was at the 1985 price, a stunning £1.79. And even better, the footage at the start was from the same era with trailers for two really awful films, ‘Teen Wolf’, starring a very young Michael J Fox and the truly appalling ‘King Solomon’s Mine’ with Richard Chamberlain and a whole load of savages, cooking pots and cannibals, a film that simply would never be made today, and good thing too.
So yesterday was the 40th birthday of the An Lanntair ( Arts centre) in Stornaway. This was celebrated with an exhibition of forty pieces from local artists who had previously shown their work throughout the years.
It was the usual private view shindig with wine, whiskey, canapes and a herd of people who would have looked at home at an event in Dalston, complete with slightly too short trousers and big boots, though with an added splash of wool ( in particular a splendid gentleman with a gorgeous orange guernsey style jersey that I am still thinking about the next morning.) You got the feeling that everyone knew everyone and they probably did, and I sort of wished I had been in their gang ( by chance I was wearing orange woolly socks but nobody noticed).
I wonder how far everyone had travelled to get there, as one of the things I have been very aware of is how much driving I am doing to get to places. It’s similar to my time on Vancouver Island where it was a good twenty minute drive to the nearest store (or thirty to a monstrous shopping mall) and here even going into Stornaway is a good forty five minute drive each way (albeit a glorious one on the off chance I have picked the tiny window when it isn’t raining). Driving home in the dark was a little challenging the first time I did it, mostly because there was a gale force wind and Wolf’s windscreen wipers aren’t quite up to the job of coping with torrential rain. One of the ( many) interesting facts about the Isle of Lewis is that the sheep prefer to sleep in the middle of the road. A fact that was quite startling the first time as I assumed somebody had run them over. But now I simply slow down, toot the horn and one by one they stagger up onto their feet and waddle out of the way. Having been here for a week I have learnt where they will be as they always sleep just beyond the blind summit just as you get to the bridge so I adjust my speed accordingly beforehand. As the chances of me speaking to a human being once I get home are slim I always wish the sheep a good night. Just as I always say good morning to the seal and to Wolf. No answer from either obviously, but you work with what you are given.
The exhibition was a mixture of paintings, sculpture, photographs, video, the usual, but there was a definite theme that ran through them all, even the ones I didn’t like ( the garish oil of a space sip amongst the Callanish standing stones for example) but there was so much of the sea and an earthiness in pretty much all of them that I really liked. And I must admit I am really loving the gaelic which is so beautiful to listen to and to read even though I don’t understand a word, but if you wanted a language that sounds like the wind and the sea and the soil it would be a strong contender, in my humble opinion.
The second part of the evening was a showing of the 1985 Scottish film “ Restless Natives” , the best bit being that the admission fee was at the 1985 price, a stunning £1.79. And even better, the footage at the start was from the same era with trailers for two really awful films, ‘Teen Wolf’, starring a very young Michael J Fox and the truly appalling ‘King Solomon’s Mine’ with Richard Chamberlain and a whole load of savages, cooking pots and cannibals, a film that simply would not be made today, and a good thing too. Then we had the adverts. What utter joy to revisit such technicoloured memories of visits to the cinema as a 25 year old. Kia Ora, annoying kids with terrible haircuts on a school trip advertising ‘Wotsits’, hilarious British telecom advert with Arthur Daley, and then the footage of the food on offer at the kiosk, popcorn, and long forgotten brands of ice creams Then we had the adverts. What utter joy to revisit such technicoloured memories ofI had forgotten even existed, and a repulsive radioactive orange hot dog with ‘special sauce’.
But the crowning glory of it all was the bit that came up at the end was the screen saying that anyone who wished to smoke should sit on the left side of the auditorium. I can hardly imagine that then it was normal behaviour and that somebody actually thought that it was worth separating the smokers and non smokers by seat numbers. A bit like on planes where the smoking section was behind a flimsy curtain.
The film was sweet and very dated, with a very thin Mel Smith, Bernard Hill and Nanette Newman ( can’t remember anything she was in but think it was a sort of family drama). There were others who I vaguely recognised. The story was ridiculous but with a touch of feelgood innocence.
And then I headed home in the dark, making sure to slow down just before the ‘Blind Summit’ sign.
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