Monumental:John Akomfrah @ the Lisson Gallery.

"If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument" - Caroline Randall Williams.

Four Nocturnes (2019)

The powerful words of the Nashville poet, academic, and author Caroline Randall Williams prick the disingenuous balloon of all those who say that statues, like the one of Edward Colston pulled down and thrown into Bristol Harbour last summer, teach us about the history of colonialism. They don't. They say nothing about what it really meant and, instead, celebrate slavers and mass murderers.

You don't have to open your eyes very wide to see that the history of colonialism, slavery, and racism are all around us. Certainly not in Bristol where roads like Blackboy Hill and Whiteladies Road exist (although there is a view that both these thoroughfares are actually named after pubs - though why did the pubs have these names?) and where the city's mayor Marvin Rees, who has spoken passionately, knowledgeably, and with consideration about the Colston statue and the city's history, is the son of a black Jamaican father and a white British mother.

A background he has eloquently delved into for BBC2's excellent documentary Statue Wars:One Summer in Bristol. The Ghanaian born British artist and theorist John Akomfrah has got a few years on Rees and his position, as an artist rather than as an elected official, is necessarily different. His role is not to provide direct answers to topical, yet depressingly evergreen, issues - but to ask questions and with his current exhibition, The Unintended Beauty of Disaster, at London's Lisson Gallery that is just what he does.

Four Nocturnes (2019)

Four Nocturnes (2019)

Four Nocturnes (2019)

What those questions are, however, is not always very clear. A handful of photo text works accompany two lengthy multi-screen video installations and though they're engaging to look at, it's uncertain exactly what message we are intended to take away.

So far, so art. While Akomfrah comes good on his promise to make us consider themes of post-colonialism, black British identity, and the climate crisis it's not always clear what point he is making about these things. Four Nocturnes, the longest and largest of the video pieces, use Africa's declining elephant population as a narrative, and allegorical, device to tell stories of how humans are destroying the planet, destroying each other, and, ultimately, destroying themselves.

Films of elephants majestically sweeping the plains or being put to use as working animals mix with meditations on nature, faded sepia photographs, and a lot of weather. At one point some dude shows up wearing an elephant mask which, aesthetically pleasing and somewhat amusing though that is, seems to underline the point that our future is tied up with that of the animals we share the planet with only too clearly.

We Are The Proof (2021)

Our Skin Is The Monument (2021)

My Body Is The Monument (2021)

The next room is given over to some rather pleasant and colourful images of Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge in Otto Preminger's 1954 film Carmen Jones. Belafonte and Dandidge, Akomfrah seems to be saying, are the real life monuments we need. Not statues of slave owners.

It's a nice point and the two actors look, of course, young and indefatigable. "The Monuments of Being" went further and showed that black, and African, people have long been enshrined in statuary around the world and have long been celebrated. If, often, not in the places we think to look - and not in the places that modern society deems to be at the top of the hierarchy of imagery.

"The Monuments of Being" (2021)

"The Monuments of Being" (2021)

"The Monuments of Being" (2021)

"The Monuments of Being" (2021)

Triptych (2020)

Triptych (2020)

Finally, there is a film with the simple, matter of fact, title of Triptych that, like Four Nocturnes, has a lof of weather, a lot of sea, and a lot of nature - but is interspersed with a variety of people, and faces, who represent the multi-faceted experience of being black in the world right now. It's meant as a homage to Max Roach's radical jazz album of 1960, We Insist!, which prefigured the Civil Rights and anti-apartheid movements.

Though you'd unlikely be able to discern this were it not for the leaflet handed out on entrance to the Lisson. Akomfrah wants you to know that any of these friendly, curious, inquisitive, or even impenetrable faces could easily have been, or still become, the next George Floyd or the next Breonna Taylor. The fact that his selection of 'sitters' almost seems random seems quite apt - as police brutality and racism towards black people does not consider individuality either, only race.

Though the words of Caroline Randall Williams, Marvin Rees, and many many others speak louder and more powerfully than the work of Akomfrah, racism is a societal cancer that should have been removed a long long time ago. John Akomfrah's The Unintended Beauty of Disaster does its bit to address that and John Akomfrah, as an artist, has done more than his bit to address that throughout a long career. Until racism is extinguished, there can never be enough works of art addressing its poisonous nature and coming at it from all angles. If politicians won't lead (and with honourable exceptions like Marvin Rees, they won't) then it is falls on artists, poets, and every one of us to do so.

Triptych (2020)

Triptych (2020)

Four Nocturnes (2019)

Four Nocturnes (2021)

Four Nocturnes (2021)

Four Nocturnes (2021)

Sign Language:Margaret Calvert @ the Design Museum.

Margaret Calvert may not be a household name but you will, each and every one of you, be familiar with her work. It's helped you get where you are today and though it's unlikely many of us have ever spent much time pondering the design behind her street signs, tube maps, and railway station information boards that shows just how effective the design of Margaret Calvert is.

 'Road Works' reflective aluminium road sign

Bold lettering, simple colour schemes, and easy to read fonts are all important when you're rushing to catch the 0811 to Crewe, speeding down the M6, or working our which line on the Tyne and Wear metro you need to take to get to the Stadium of Light in Sunderland. The curators behind Margaret Calvert:Woman at work, a free exhibition at London's Design Museum in Holland Park, call Calvert the "graphic designer who created the visual backdrop to modern life in Britain" - and they're not wrong.

She's even got an OBE for her work. Her pioneering designs, often in collaboration with Jack Kinneir, defined the look of the welfare state and are still as fresh, clear, and quietly innovative as they were when she started out in the 1950s. That's why they're still about. It must be a joy for Calvert, now in her mid-eighties, to travel around the country and see her work everywhere and it must also give her some sense of satisfaction that she is finally being celebrated for that work. 

Calvert arrived in Britain from South Africa, where she was born, in 1957 as a student and graduated from Chelsea School of Art in 1957 with a specialism in illustration and printmaking. Kinneir employed her, first as his assistant, and described her as "the student who applied herself most rigorously to what she was doing". When on a project, he remarked, she "worked like a maniac".

A Prize for Art:an autobiography by Edward Wakeford (1961)

Calvert's first commission was a book cover for an Edward Wakeford autobiography and she employed the language of modern art to give it a classic, minimalist, feel that still hasn't dated. Before that, however, she had already worked, for Kinneir, in travel design. A 1958 copy of Design magazine looked at 'wayfinding' at the new Gatwick Airport and though the cover was designed by Ken Garland, Calvert was involved in the content for both the magazine and the design of the airport signage.

The work impressed Sir Colin Anderson, then chairman of the P&O Orient Line, and he commissioned Kinneir to design a baggage labelling system for his cruise ship empire. This gave Calvert a chance to work on her lettering and, later, brochures for Tunhill Ltd gave her an opportunity to further hone those skills.

Gatwick edition of Design, no. 116 (1958)

Margaret Calvert's London studio (2020)

The opening of Britain's first motorway, the M1, in 1959 radically transformed the national transport network and, under commission of the Ministry of Transport, Kinneir and Calvert worked for seven years replacing the haphazard, dangerous, inconsistent, and, in some cases, almost illegible existing signs with ones that were easy to read, logical, and consistent.

The letterform designed for this project was given the oh so functional name of Transport and the signs were designed so that they could be read from a distance and when motoring at speed. Each and every aspect of legibility was considered from layout to size to colour. Even the spacing between letters was discussed. These road signs ended up being three times larger than those that came before them and were so successful that they are still, with only minor alterations, in use today and have been copied in many other countries around the world.

Legibility test by Road Research Laboratory at RAF Benson airfield - Transport Research Laboratory (c.1959)

Model for road sign (c.1960s)

Margaret Calvert can help you get to Windsor or Uxbridge but she can also show you the way to Kavala or Umm Suqeim. She can also warn you about hazards you may encounter en route and tell you what speed you should be driving at, or below. She personally designed many of the pictograms we all know and love today. From the 'Road Works' or 'man with a heavy umbrella' sign that tops this blog to the 'Children' crossing sign in which the elder, female, child is based on herself.

The nearest thing to a self-portrait in the entire exhibition! The red triangle and white background with shadowy figures is basic and could even look austere but Calvert has drawn the children holding hands and skipping along happily, giving the sign a warm and human feel. You'd feel bad if you ran those kids over.

'Children' reflective aluminium road sign

Reconstructed Metro cube - Nexus (2020)

Calvert has now given her a name to a typeface. Originally designed to give the French suburban town of St-Quentin-en-Yvelines its own visual identity, the 'slab-serif' design was rejected for being 'too English' but was picked up in Newcastle where it became the default typeface for the Tyne and Wear Metro system that opened in 1980.

Bus and ferry networks in the region also picked up on a design that Calvert herself felt reflected the distinctive architecture of Newcastle and the surrounding area. It certainly looks effective, and aesthetically pleasing, placed against the cold grey concrete of the station walls and the bright yellow paint of the hand rail.

Map of Tyne and Wear Metro (2020)

It wasn't the first time that Calvert and Kinneir had been tasked with rail network design. Although British Railways was nationalised in 1948 it continued for over a decade being operated regionally and with no overarching design style. Calvert and Kinneir came up with the, again, uber functional Rail Alphabet style (using a typeface not dissimilar to Helvetica) which was designed to be read easily by slow moving passengers and to incorporate Gerry Barney's then new, but now iconic and barely in use anymore, double arrow symbol.

It went on to set the standard for railway graphics across Europe (Danish State Railways adopted it almost immediately) and was unveiled at an exhibition titled The New Face of British Rail(ways) at the Design Centre in Islington. Changing over to the new design was a big operation as the British Rail Passenger Network at the time had four thousand locomotives and two thousand stations. For some reason, Sealink got in on the act and had their ships repainted with the new design too.

Special British Rail edition of Design, no. 193 (1965)

Map of British Rail Passenger Network - David Lawrence (1968)

Even the NHS used it. As well as Belfast and Glasgow airports and those further afield in Sydney, Melbourne, and Bahrain. Rail Alphabet remained British Rail's corporate identity until the railways were disastrously, for customers if not shareholders, re-privatised by John Major's Conservative government in the early nineties.

Today, the infrastructure is owned and operated by the publicly owned Network Rail and in the last three years, Calvert has, with her team, been commissioned to redesign Rail Alphabet for a new age. Never one to show off, Calvert came up with .... Rail Alphabet 2. Its main difference seemingly being its adaptability for use in the digital sphere.

Calvert's use of easy to understand names is consistent with her use of easy to read (and understand) design but there is a sense of humour at work too. The straight bat she plays during these projects is balanced with a more playful side that The Design Museum devote the final section of the exhibition too. 

When the co-curator (along with Grayson Perry) of 2018's Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, the brilliantly monikered Humphrey Ocean, confessed a fondness for Calvert's 'Road Works' signs she mocked up a 'Woman at Work' version for the show (another self-portrait!), with frequent collaborator Henrik Kubel she redesigned the 'Children' crossing sign to show some of Mickey Mouse's friends or relatives crossing a road in order to help Disney teach kids about road safety, she's given the 30 speed limit sign a camp and colourful makeover, and to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the M1 in 2010 she deconstructed one of its famous road signs.

Almost as if to let you know she gets modern art. Which she clearly does. But she excels at design. If her signs and typefaces weren't so universally understood and identifiable these cheeky interpretations would make no sense. Because they are, we smile at them. Margaret Calvert's work is so powerful and effective that it barely needs explaining. In that respect, I was glad that the show the Design Museum provided for her was more of a celebration. A very worthy one.

Woman at Work (2018)

'Mouse Crossing' sign in use - The Academy & Disney (2019)

30 (2019)

50th Anniversary of the M1 (2010)

TADS #41:Canvey Island (or Oil City Confidential).

They're coming home, they're coming home, TADS are coming home.

 

Much like Harry Kane, Raheem Sterling, and the rest of the England football squad, four TADS went to bed this Saturday feeling tired but happy, elated even, with a feeling of a job done well and a sense of excitement about returning to 'work' again in August when TADS head to Llangollen in Wales for their annual two day spectacular.

I was proud that, in my own small way, I was their Gareth Southgate but, as with Southgate, I'd be nobody without a strong team - and that I had. Even if it was a considerably smaller one than that which strode from Rye to Camber Sands and back last month. Just the four of us. I like it when we have large numbers but, logistically speaking, it is easier in some ways when the numbers are fewer.

I took the Overground from Honor Oak Park to Canada Water and the Jubilee line to Stratford where I met Shep, Adam, and Pam already on the platform. We'd planned to get the 1052 to Benfleet but as we were all over half an hour early we jumped on the 1022 and, after stops in places like Barking, Upminster, and Basildon, were in Benfleet by eleven on the dot.

It was there we witnessed a man in a slightly disturbing choice of Covid mask. A huge bag not unlike the one that was used by The Elephant Man. We presumed he had an inordinately large beard inside it and referred to it as his 'beard bag' - until he removed the mask/bag to reveal a clean shaven face. 

There was something eerie about the chap. Luckily, he was soon far from our mind as we wandered along Canvey Road looking out to the muddy banks of East Haven Creek complete with rusty boats, a half submerged office chair, and several gulls and, we think, ibises. We crossed the creek on to Canvey Island proper and soon took a footpath to our left that led us into Dauntless Boatyard and what we hoped would be a solid breakfast/brunch/lunch in a Portakabin with the slightly misleading name of the Waterside Cafe.

It was not the only misleading thing about it. I'd checked in the days, and hours, before the walk that the Waterside Cafe was open and the Internet told me it was. Once we'd looked around some tractors, industrial plants, old boats, and rusty vintage cars it became obvious that the Waterside Cafe was closed. A couple of sad tables sat on some decking near a locked door. Questions to local office workers (in the other end of the same Portakabin) proved equally fruitless when it came to sourcing food.

Adam had brought sandwiches and shared them with Shep and Pam (though not me - I hadn't eaten all day but I didn't mind, I knew we'd find somewhere soon enough) and we set off along the northern side of Canvey Island. To our south a golf course, to our north a large concrete flood wall over which you could see a maze of small streams and brooks running through marshy fields. Beyond that the surprisingly verdant green hills of Essex.

Canvey, the second largest island in the Thames after Sheppey, is 7.12sq miles of reclaimed land with a population of over 38,000 and has been inhabited since the Roman invasion of Britain. It is believed that salt was once taken from Canvey to Chelmsford and Colchester and when the Saxons settled in the area and developed Essex agriculturally, sheep farming became the island's chief industry.

It remained so until the 20th century (the ewe's milk was even exported to France) and place names on Canvey Island ending in 'wick' come from the sheds where the cheese was made. It is believed that the name Canvey Island means 'the island of Cana's people' but it is uncertain who Cana actually was.

Canvey was passed between various royals and nobles for centuries (Henry de Essex, Henry II, and John de Apeton to name just three) and in the 14c the first attempt at protecting the island, its people, and its livestock from frequent Thames estuary flooding began. For the next three hundred years, however, the island's people and sheep would have to regularly huddle together on the few hills (and, to be fair, we saw none all day) as the rest of the island disappeared underwater.

In the 17c the island was walled with chalk, limestone, clay, and Kentish ragstone and drainage ditches were dug. Many of those involved were Dutch engineers who then settled on Canvey and, even now, one third of the island's streets have names of Dutch origins. These 'walls' still exist, now topped with a modern (and so tall you can rarely see over it) concrete wall, and they give the island an odd aspect. Houses that feel as if they should look directly out to the sea, or estuary, instead stare out blankly at huge grass verges, fences, and concrete. Some of the houses, at least on the eastern side of the island, seem almost too fancy for such an unsatisfying result.

As the path got wilder and curled back in and around Tewkes Creek, the map on my phone told me we were approaching Anita's Tearooms - and we were all still hungry. The sign looked promising - and Anita's did not let us down. There was an option of sitting in (a Portakabin of course) or sitting out among the garden furniture, shrubbery, and flowers that gave the place the feel, not unpleasant, of a suburban garden centre.

Adam ordered the biggest cup of tea they had (and got it - in Del Boy's Lovely Jubbly mug), Pam had a veggie breakfast, and Shep and I had chips and beans. Some of the biggest chips I'd ever seen and some of the biggest beans I'd ever seen. Even the bread that came with it was, of course, of the doorstep variety. Even a brief shower, it had been surprisingly hot earlier, couldn't ruin this unexpected feast although the man who was in Anita's single toilet for the duration of our stay certainly annoyed some cross legged walkers.

 

He could be heard yakking away on his phone from the Portaloo. Perhaps he should have prioritised having a shit. We gave up waiting and headed on. Past the Island Yacht Club with views of Southend and it's world record length pier on the horizon. Soon we reached a corner of the island and took a right along the even more resilient fortifications that face out towards the Thames. You can walk either side of them (though presumably not at high tide) and we mixed and matched so we could both enjoy the view of large cargo ships passing on the broad and majestic grey expanses of the Thames, with views across to the Isle of Grain, and also so that we wouldn't miss the Windjammer pub which I'd pencilled in for our next stop.

It wasn't long before we spotted the pub. Popular with pensioners would be one way of describing it. They didn't take cards (in 2021!) and only Pam had enough cash to buy a round but my Moretti went down well in the early afternoon sun as we sat on the patio gassing away and laughing about overhearing a passer by describe Pam as "that bird in burgundy".

The Thames estuary is picturesque yet slightly industrial here and it would become more of a 'working' beach again soon but, not long after the Windjammer, you reach what passes as Canvey Island's attempt at a seaside resort. To be fair, it's modest - but I still liked it. A couple of penny arcades, some bumper cars, a few fast food joints, and a couple of sports pubs including the surprisingly tempting looking Art Deco styled Monico.

This modern iteration of Art Deco had been more lovingly looked after than the nearby, and far more important in terms of architectural history, Labworth Cafe. The Labworth was built in 1933 by Ove Arup, a Danish-English engineer who was also involved in Highpoint in Highgate (with the architect Berthold Lubetkin), Sydney Opera House (with Jorn Utzon), and Centre Pompidou in Paris (with Richard Rogers and Renzo Piano) and worked in the International Style of Le Corbusier, Van Der Rohe, Gropius, and Aalto.

It's a small piece of modernist architectural history and it's sad to see it up boarded up, a victim of the decline in the popularity of English seaside holidays even if in 1996 it was awarded a Grade II listing by English Heritage and plans were supposedly made to, like the Delawarr Pavilion in Bexhill, restore it to its former glory.

Perhaps, in some ways, that wouldn't feel right. Canvey Island has a feel of former, or faded, glory no matter where you look. Despite proud boasts about THE GREAT BRITISH COAST, the sand is hardly golden and most of the benches, all but one in fact, dotted around what passes as its beach were vacant.

Canvey Island has been unlucky more than it's been lucky over the years. On the 1st February 1953 the North Sea Flood killed fifty-eight people on the island, many in holiday bungalows in Newlands. The total death toll was 2,551. Mostly in the Netherlands (where 9% of all Dutch farmland was flooded) but fatalities occurred in Belgium too, as well as in Suffolk, Norfolk, Lincolnshire, and even as far north as Scotland.

Thirty thousand animals died and ten thousand buildings were destroyed. On Canvey, The Red Cow pub (a mere two foot above sea level) survived the flooding and was renamed the King Canute in tribute but more significantly for those living there a new seawall was built. One which was enlarged again in the eighties and, seemingly, for now at least - climate change notwithstanding, is doing a good job at keeping the islanders and visitors like us safe.

Most of the south western part of the island is given over to the petrochemical industry (particularly it seems - a firm by the name of Oikos) and has been since the 1930s. In 1979, the IRA attacked Canvey's Texaco oil terminal and in 1997 Safeway hired the celebrity steeplejack Fred Dibnah to demolish a 450ft high concrete chimney in their refinery.

This was to be a big event and crowds were expected to gather but, alas, the day before Dibnah's feat was due the chimney fell down of its own accord. Now, it's a mostly forlorn looking section. Static caravans in an utterly soulless and fenced off estate look more like prisons than holiday homes and many of the gasholders are covered in rust. The offices, too, have been left to be reclaimed by nature.

At times it felt we were heading in the wrong direction here, although an unexpected climb up a rusty ladder was exhilarating, but as the coastal path and wall slowly curved round we finally reached the Lobster Smack pub. A pub I had expected to be, at best, unimpressive (bearing in mind its surroundings and location). A pub I would not have been surprised to find either deserted or boarded up.

Instead it was an absolute joy. In the 1850s it had been the home of bare knuckle boxing bouts, some of which would last for three hours and involve sixty rounds, and was frequented by smugglers so infamously that Dickens featured both the inn and the smugglers in 1860's Great Expectations. It seems likely it would have had another boost too in the 1930s when Canvey became a fashionable resort and was believed, even, to have healing properties.

Casinos, arcades, and funfairs were built and Londoners were encouraged to relocate and buy dream homes here, starting a cockney diaspora. With pubs selling pints for £3.50, you can see the appeal. We sat in the Lobster Smack's delightful and spacious beer garden, listening to The Buggles Video Killed the Radio Star, drinking Peroni, and, inevitably, making a very enjoyable two pint mistake.

I, of course, took the opportunity to reel off a list of CI notables and folklore. Residents of Canvey have included Robert Denmark (7th in the 5000m in the Barcelona Olympics of 1992, behind Dieter Baumann of Germany), Dean Marney (the ex-Tottenham, Hull City, Burnley, and Fleetwood Town player), Dean Macey (4th in the decathlon at  the Sydney Olympics of 2000 - behind Erki Nool of Estonia and, again, 4th four years later in Athens behind the Czech Roman Sebrle), and Peter Taylor (former manager of/and player for both Crystal Palce and England).

Local folklore tells of a ghostly Dutchman carrying a sack around the norther parts of Canvey (could it be beard bag man?), a 'lady of the lake' who haunts the island after drowning near here, a tall burly Viking spectre who was left behind by his fleet, the phantom of a vanishing nun, the ghost of a 'black man' who offers a price for your soul, and one last ghost - a 'white lady' who will ask you to dance with here.

We didn't see any of these characters but on the long, and now really quite warm, walk back to the north of the island we did pass the two 17c Dutch cottages that had been built over four hundred years ago by immigrants working on the island's sea walls. The pink one was particularly pretty and that's why it's now a museum. The white one has recently been sold.

I would have loved to have had a nose around inside these fantastic houses but time was tight (and they weren't open to the public anyway) and we arrived in Mumtaz Mahal in Benfleet over half an hour later than planned (I'd phoned ahead and they were okay with that) and once it was established that Shep would not be able to have either Bangla or paneer shashlik, I ordered a brace of Cobras, Bombay aloo, turka dall, and a chapati and shared some pilao rice with Adam. It was delicious but it still defeated me (I don't know why but I am struggling to eat large meals these days or even medium sized ones).

The service was friendly and the conversation, of course, was interesting and funny too. When the staff celebrated Harry Kane's first goal against Ukraine in the Euros quarter final we had to decide if we were going to watch it. I think I wanted to the most but we all decided we'd try one of the local pubs, feeling certain they'd be fully booked.

Amazingly, the first one we tried, The Anchor Inn had a spare table (for four) in front of a large screen. We had a couple more beers as we watched Harry Maguire, Jordan Henderson, and, for the second time, Harry Kane put England 4-0 up and into a semi-final with Denmark on Wednesday. It was an amazing performance and a real novelty to watch England play a game of knockout football with the stress off.

As we walked back to the station, the temptation to launch into Football's Coming Home was tempting. But so would it have been to break into British Sea Power's Canvey Island ("oh, it's happening now") or something by local pub rock legends (Canvey Island is good for pub rock and Brit funk) Dr Feelgood. Something like Going Back Home perhaps.

On the train back to Stratford, Shep and I had another beer and Pam was propositioned by a very drunk man who boasted they called him the "five minute man". In Stratford itself, Pam left us and I took the Jubilee with Adam and Shep. I left them at Canada Water and headed back to Honor Oak Park. By the time I got home I'd clocked up 34,008 steps (a 2021 record, beating the 32,682 registered on the Wandle a fortnight ago).

I'd set a record, England had set a record (biggest win ever in the knockout stages of a tournament) and all of us had had a rather lovely, and quite unusual, day out. Thanks to Pam for the snaps used in this blog (as ever) and thanks to her, Shep, and Adam for spending this day with me. TADS have got the world in motion and even though, like football, they're coming home - they'll be out and about again soon.