Ian – The Art of Ian Frederick Harris

Why I paint.

Today I had a sharp reminder of why I paint. Or rather, a sharp reminder of what painting means to me. It’s complicated, selfish but important to me.

Painting is, I have discovered at this rather late stage in my life is the way I experience, peace. And in that silence, at least for a while, I am healed. Call me unrealistic or whatever you like but I admit it…I paint to escape.

The story…

Basically, we were that close to being scammed. That close to have what meagre monies we have torn away.

Unfortunately, my other half (who has recently come out of hospital exhausted) reacted to an email supposedly from our bank telling us that a large payment was in the process of being taken from our account. We did what we usually do when money or rather the lack of it is mentioned in our life, we panicked and clicked on the phone number that offered to help us.

We found ourselves engaged in a conversation with the scum of the earth.

The thing is and of course with hindsight, these people were so obviously scammers it makes us ashamed to think we were deceived so easily and dragged partway down into their swamp. Their manner was hurried, impatient and so obviously unprofessional that how anyone could be as fooled as we were, makes the mind boggle. But we fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

To cut a long story short.

We, slowly, very slowly, realised that the route these despicable human beings were leading us down was unnecessarily confusing. Questions were being asked and scenarios invented…’someone called Mohammed has ordered a mobile phone from Argos in your name’ that raised our suspicions.

After much toing-and-froing we ‘clicked’ we knew something was not quite right and after a quick conversation on another phone with the legitimate bank we ended the conversation with the criminals. Our cards were stopped at source, and we were told that our money was safe. Relief all round.

What fools we were (and how easily it is done)

The panic is only now subsiding leaving behind a mess, a vestige of doubt and the question that will plague us for probably days, ‘is it really all over’.

Anyway,

Tonight, before I go to bed, I will put a curse on the scum who stole a couple of hours of mine and my other half’s life.

But I will not sleep…

So, tomorrow in an effort to heal myself, I will paint.

men and masculinity

Although I now spend most of my time as an artist/writer based in Stratford upon Avon, I have had a varied working career.

From a very short time in the Army when I left school, to Dry Cleaning, lorry driving (delivering beer etc), I eventually found myself training for the Priesthood in the Church of England.

I was eventually ordained in the 90’s, working in the Community and based in St Peter’s, Hillfields, as a Worker Priest (see below) in Coventry.

‘A worker-priest was any priest who was “freed from parochial work by his bishop, lived only by full-time labor in a factory or other place of work, and was indistinguishable in appearance from an ordinary workingman.

At the same time, I also became a Mental Health Advocate for MIND taking on a Counselling/information role.

Although I am no longer what many people might call ‘religious’ (I prefer ‘spiritual’), and with other offshoots to my life too many to mention, over the years I have always been aware that men and masculinity is often a neglected area. What we have is a significant segment of society facing high expectations but receiving, I believe inadequate support.

Many men, I believe are in fact, ‘lost’ and confused. Especially in areas that include their own personal search to find out what it actually means to be a man today. ‘What is expected of them and how on earth can they fulfil these (sometimes imagined?) and supposedly, masculine roles’.

To that end I have has decided to offer my varied experience as a counsellor and advocate and support men as best I can.

If you are interested and think I might be able to assist you to move forward and would like more information, please…

Email me… ianfharris@outlook.com

Or ring 07830021001 for more details.

Trump has taken up residency in my head

I should be in my studio (shed), painting but unfortunately, Donald J Trump has taken up residency in my head, rent free. The unfathomable plight of the American people and why they have allowed HIM to happen consumes me…

Anyway…this…

It’s obvious that I am not the only one in these here parts to be watching in astonishment as America eats itself. Things have got so bad that the jokes about ‘the orange one’ etc are no longer funny.

So much so, that the TV shows that are brave enough to criticise the President by showing never ending clips of his ridiculous statements or behaviour, are in my opinion becoming tired and ineffective. Once upon a time, humour was a powerful weapon that could be relied upon to slow down the progress of the most powerful wannabe dictator. Not anymore. They have cracked all the jokes, shown all the videos and the Fool is still there.

Trump is as he is portrayed. Stupid and dangerous. The radio and TV stations of sensible America is merely telling the truth as it is and thereby have lost any barbs it might have had. It can tell its audience nothing new about its corrupt President. The time has come to stop laughing. The ‘joke’ is over. Time to get serious America. Time to get serious or die.

Trump is as mad as a box of frogs. Trump is a conman. Trump is a narcissist. Trump is greedy and a grifter. It’s all been said and it’s all true. It therefore follows that the truth because of its constant repetition holds no longer holds shock value. The surprise, the step back in ‘shock/horror’ effect has dissipated. The TV stations are merely telling their audience what they already know.

In short, main street media has lost its edge and are now merely feeding the masses who hate Trump with what they want and expect to hear. And it is these feelings of audience self-righteousness and the ‘told you so’ effect that is keeping them from rising in anger from their over-stuffed sofas. They are too ‘comfortable’ and under the mistaken allusion that the TV companies will fight the battle for them. They need to wake up and organise before it is too late. Which it might be already.

What also amazes me is the sycophantic Republican party and their complete lack of realisation that they cannot go on like this. Their day, (sooner rather than later one hopes), will most definitely come and no amount of money and guns will save them from the fury of the crowd, or should I say, mob.

History has shown us many, many times that empires will fall, some quicker than others. And the way America is isolating itself from its one-time friends and allies this could be one of the quickest falls from grace ever seen.

It doesn’t take a great brain to realise that when the fall comes revenge will be taken, and heads will roll. If I was a present-day Republican decision maker I would already be feeling rather uneasy and wondering about the future for me and my family.

Meanwhile the orange slob sits in the White House appointing idiots to the most powerful jobs in the administration, and for a purpose.

It means that when the consequences of their crazy decisions become too much for even him to bare, he will deny all knowledge of the decisions made.

Feigning shock and surprise he will issue dismissals throwing his idiotic appointees under the bus, and declaring he knew nothing about what was going on. Easy come – easy go.

Would Stratford upon Avon survive without Shakespeare?

Rather than me go off on a ramble, I have a question, and it is this…

Would Stratford upon Avon survive without Shakespeare?

In my opinion (and I’ve been here since ’71), Stratford is a funny old place insomuch it has, I believe, an identity crisis. In short, it doesn’t know what it is.

The outside world assumes and is under the delusion that because of the close association with (some might say) the world’s greatest dramatist, William Shakespeare, we walk on hallowed ground. That we inhabit a hotbed, nay a land infused with High Art. That somehow the very fact that the man himself was born here, his very DNA spilt over and blessed everything it touched. (Sorry – bit over the top).

The truth is, however, there is nothing to see here, except a large red brick fortress (The Royal Shakespeare Theatre) that has, apart from a huge turnover of well-paid staff, gifted not that much to the world of theatre except repetition and some amazing actors. Engaged in the constant non-stop interpretation and regurgitation of the man’s 39 ? plays, that is the game played.

Which is fine I guess if you are a fan.

But not so good if you truly believe that the neglect of other plays and playwrights (modern or otherwise), must (one likes to think but I doubt it), have the old man turning in his grave (wherever that is).

This miniscule offering of other stuff is not enough.

Opportunities are being missed, and we are neglecting generations who would like to get into theatre but can’t get past the old man on the door.

Thankfully, there are a few brave and local souls attempting to pump life into the theatrical landscape but too late methinks (Shakespeare). Power to their collective elbows but me and quite a few others just can’t afford you.

Stratford upon Avon is a market town. Not as small as the words ‘market town’ might suggest, in fact it’s getting bigger every day which is baffling. Housing estates are being built but where are the people?

Like a lot of towns in the UK empty shops are springing up all over the place. Town appears empty even on sunny days. And those tourists that do come don’t appear to come for William. A look at the fake architecture and a quick shufty around the river seem to be the order of the day.

Aah yes, the river…brown and slow running…

‘Them’

Painting used to be the way I dealt with the world. It was applying paint to canvas that in its own strange way enabled me to cope. The minutes, the hours would pass, and I would be in the time it took to create whatever, at peace.

Something has changed. A great black cloud has appeared, blocking out the sun and the peace. My sky has darkened, and my life feels like it is changing.

Let me explain…

When I was feeling more myself it was not unusual for me to pontificate, preach even (forgive me) that WE. US. Us human beings were connected. We were, ONE. And for all our differences in culture, appearance or whatever, we were joined at the hip. Always, brothers and sisters. Family.

I was, however, wrong. Blinded by the light and basking in the good times, I had foolishly forgotten about

‘them’.

I had forgotten, that although ‘them’ spend most of their existence, their ‘lives’ under damp and slimy stones and other dark places, they are easy to forget. The truth is, ‘them’, are indestructible and will always be with us. And when not in plain sight, spend their time planning for their next intrusion.

They exist

…and there is nothing to be done except to be ready for ‘them’ and prepared for their next and terrible incarnation. We must always be ready and brave enough to turn the tables and muffle the most awful of their attacks when they arrive…and arrive they will. Yet, and here’s the thing, we will always defeat them. BUT history shows us…at great cost.

For even in their inevitable defeat there will always be a price to pay. We will win and they will retreat unfortunately, leaving us with the consequences of their short or long, destructive rule. They will run back to their dark holes in the damp ground, but they will always, always, return to test us. They will always rise again.

Often described as ‘the Right’, they are a particular breed that exist to disrupt and destroy. They are like the bad and diseased offshoot of what it means to be a member of the human race. A mirror reflection. The opposite. A faulty copy that desires power over and complete control of other human beings. To turn the Status Quo and make profit out of misery they cause is their lifeblood, their heartbeat, their purpose.

And by the ‘clever’ use of infiltration, confusion, lies and more than anything, the ability to set everyone against each other, they will as they have done in generation after generation, succeed in many different ways with their wicked aims.

SO. BEWARE. It is their time. we are under attack.

What we must and can do is to see through the dark mist and recognise them for what they are. That is our first line of defence. We have to make a note of where they stand and make all efforts to remove them from their positions of power and influence. However, this is not easy because it requires a courage that many of us have no idea we possess. And because these monsters come in many cases, disguised. The task is made that more difficult.

Only revealing themselves when they are sometimes already established (albeit in minor positions of power and trust), we must be prepared to be surprised and shocked who our enemies actually are.

Be alert and have close eyes on the Politician, the Spokesperson, the President.

Beware wolves in sheep’s clothing who claim to speak for the weak and the worried whilst at the same time blaming the powerless for all the ills of society.

Watch out for the charlatan in power who blames vulnerable groups with nonsensical claims concerning their validity to even exist. Watch out for those that claim to be ‘a man (or woman) of the people’, whilst living a life that is separate and bears no resemblance to those that he or she is trying to appeal to. Do not be fooled.

Stop. Think. Take a breath. Do not give way. Do your Research. Use your voice. Use your vote. Shout more loudly than usual if you can. Do all that you can to send these monsters on their way and back to the swamp. Organise. Go underground if need be. If none of these things are possible keep watch. Stay loyal and protect your friends and loved ones. Above all…

Do not be sheep.