For my family, like many others who make the annual pilgrimage to the Cheltenham racecourse at the end of August, The Greenbelt Festival is one of the high-points of the year. As a teacher whose life is structured by the academic year, it comes at just the right time as I take a deep breath before plunging into the furious current of the new school curriculum. It is an extraordinary event which includes a breath-taking range of literary and arts events for all ages, talks on hot topics from climate-change to the Palestinian occupation, to sexuality and spirituality. It exists above all to explore the relationship between faith, the arts and social justice and thus nurture the spirituality of thousands of Christians year after year who participate. This was the 36th festival in fact. The Greenbelt experience was beautifully encapsulated in an article by one of this year’s key contributors Andy Tate, a lecturer from Lancaster University. “ For an inveterate chatter-box like me, the plethora of opportunities to drink tea and gabble endlessly about music, books and ideas is very heaven…Greenbelt has always existed on ‘the dangerous edge of things.’. it continues to wrestle with issues of faith and justice and to recognize that good questions are more important than easy answers.”
I am invariably challenged and inspired by the many great speakers who are invited to Greenbelt such as the late, great John O’ Donohue, an Irish poet and mystic who wrote the best-selling Anam Cara. I remember lolling on the grass and laughing in the sunshine as he held-forth in that inimitable Celtic brogue a couple of years ago. This time, however I was struck more than ever with the thought that no amount of discussion or analysis of spirituality and the arts can match the thing itself. There is, I suppose, that moment when we need to stop our chatter, and open our spirits to something more sublime if we are to enter deeply into the presence of the living God. The arts at their best can be for us at such times a form of prayer leading us like Moses up the mountain into “the cloud of unknowing.” This is the place where the air is somehow thinner, our breathing changes, and wonder is stirred as we see the world with fresh eyes. There were three arts events at Greenbelt this year which had something of this effect on me drawing me into what the festival organisers poetically termed ‘the long now.’
On Saturday morning we all went to see No Nonsense Theatre Company’s dramatization of the Old Testament story of Ruth which is about an old woman’s return to her homeland in a time of famine. This innovative drama group had developed their initial ideas for this production through a series of work-shops with economic migrants in the north-west of England. Since the company wanted to keep the play as accessible as possible for these women who had contributed their ideas during the planning stages, they told the story using masks and puppets against an evocative recording of middle-eastern music especially composed for the production. The masks like all the design elements of the show were beautifully crafted to bring the world of the characters vividly alive. Masks distil the essence of a stage character just as a painting does, by capturing a fundamental attitude in the features of the mask which is then heightened through the physicality of the actor. So, far example, the essential dignity and kindness of Boaz, the farmer who feeds and finally marries Ruth at the end of the story, was graphically illustrated in a way that goes far beyond words through the wide set features of the mask and the upright, rooted posture of the actor. I was struck as I looked round the all-age audience how attentively the young children were following really poignant moments in the drama. Before the Reformation and the Protestant Church’s preoccupation with The Word of God, the so-called common folk would engage with the stories of the Bible through the frescos on the walls of their places of worship. Sometimes when we strip away words we behold the beauty of human gestures as if for the first time and the meaning of the story comes into fresh focus. When Ruth silently receives a small sack of grain from Boaz after she has scrabbled in vain for the gleanings in his field, she notices there are some words embroidered across it in black letters. As the masked face angles to read them we see they spell KINDNESS. Nothing more needed to be said.
By Sunday afternoon, I was beginning to feel somewhat dizzy through the combination of the crowds of festival-goers, intense seminars and the constant noise that is an inevitable part of Greenbelt. It was time to seek sanctuary in one of the rooms in the Grandstand set aside for an exhibition called ‘Visionaries’-working in the margins. This was put together for the festival by Wallspace who run an independent gallery in the 18th century church of All Hallows on the Wall in London. Visionaries in this context referred to two kinds of work; that of the dreamer who attempts to depict another form of perceived reality in parallel with the material, everyday world and secondly, a more prophetic vision, a necessary critique of life and institutions as they are, in favour of a vision of how they might be or should be. As I began to look at the paintings I began to slow down. I realized I needed to forget about the time-table of seminars which animated the crowds below and that I had to switch-off whichever side of the brain is activated by theological conundrums. I needed to awaken to the language of colour, line and form. What a relief! I was also aware how I was inclined to systematically work my way through the gallery as though reading a book from cover to cover, or making my way to the local store for a pint of milk. This doesn’t really make much sense in a gallery since each painting is a world in itself inviting us to lose ourselves within its frame and leave behind our linear lives with their notion of getting things done. Would it really matter if I only beheld one painting for the rest of the afternoon if it so captivated me? As I yielded to process of contemplation I was wonderfully refreshed by the exhibition though I sense I have much to learn about appreciating the spiritual power of the visual arts. Looking now at a postcard of one of the paintings from the exhibition, ‘Downland Discourse’ (above) I am aware how the artist, Noel White, invites the spectator to turn away from the devilish world of wild, frenzied activity and walk instead the winding sun-lit path in the company of the iconic saint on the left. At first glance the painting seems rather simplistic with the crude division of the landscape into colour and black and white. However, the saint is dressed in the same grey colour as the demonic world on the right of the image, whereas the devil tones in with the colourful side of the painting. The man in the middle who we are presumably asked to identify with, is drawn initially toward the seductive figure of the devil, but the artist has opened a window, as it were, for us to perceive the darkness and danger of what the demon promises so theatrically . The muted figure of the saint does not wave his arms around but walks quietly by our side. If we can pull ourselves away from the dazzling demon on our right shoulder, we will find a glorious paradise of rest and renewal symbolized by the leaping gazelles, embracing couple and bird in flight across the green meadows. The painting is in fact an icon, calling us to prayer.
Late on Sunday evening I took our tired girls to listen to their Mum playing selections from the work of one of the great spiritual composers of our time, Sir John Tavener with the excellent Greenbelt orchestra assembled by Harry Napier and conducted by the admirable Scott Stroman. Tavener’s music is inspired by the theology and liturgical traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church which he joined in the late seventies. The concert was staged in one of the vast conference halls from which all the seats had been removed which meant that many of the audience could stretch out on the carpeted floor below the stage. The house lights were dimmed leaving just a pinky glow bouncing off the high ceiling of the hall. This created the appropriate atmosphere of a vigil which many of the selections were originally intended for. For my children the music acted more as a lullaby and they slept through much of their mother’s heroics. Since many of the pieces were in homage to Mary the mother of God, that was perhaps exactly the right response for these worn out girls! The soloist was the cellist Matthew Forbes whose playing and instrument responded beautifully to the intense devotional mood evoked by the score. Perhaps music such as this is the most transcendent of all the arts drawing us beyond words and even images into silence and finally sleep. I left Greenbelt, as ever, ready for another year.
I am invariably challenged and inspired by the many great speakers who are invited to Greenbelt such as the late, great John O’ Donohue, an Irish poet and mystic who wrote the best-selling Anam Cara. I remember lolling on the grass and laughing in the sunshine as he held-forth in that inimitable Celtic brogue a couple of years ago. This time, however I was struck more than ever with the thought that no amount of discussion or analysis of spirituality and the arts can match the thing itself. There is, I suppose, that moment when we need to stop our chatter, and open our spirits to something more sublime if we are to enter deeply into the presence of the living God. The arts at their best can be for us at such times a form of prayer leading us like Moses up the mountain into “the cloud of unknowing.” This is the place where the air is somehow thinner, our breathing changes, and wonder is stirred as we see the world with fresh eyes. There were three arts events at Greenbelt this year which had something of this effect on me drawing me into what the festival organisers poetically termed ‘the long now.’
On Saturday morning we all went to see No Nonsense Theatre Company’s dramatization of the Old Testament story of Ruth which is about an old woman’s return to her homeland in a time of famine. This innovative drama group had developed their initial ideas for this production through a series of work-shops with economic migrants in the north-west of England. Since the company wanted to keep the play as accessible as possible for these women who had contributed their ideas during the planning stages, they told the story using masks and puppets against an evocative recording of middle-eastern music especially composed for the production. The masks like all the design elements of the show were beautifully crafted to bring the world of the characters vividly alive. Masks distil the essence of a stage character just as a painting does, by capturing a fundamental attitude in the features of the mask which is then heightened through the physicality of the actor. So, far example, the essential dignity and kindness of Boaz, the farmer who feeds and finally marries Ruth at the end of the story, was graphically illustrated in a way that goes far beyond words through the wide set features of the mask and the upright, rooted posture of the actor. I was struck as I looked round the all-age audience how attentively the young children were following really poignant moments in the drama. Before the Reformation and the Protestant Church’s preoccupation with The Word of God, the so-called common folk would engage with the stories of the Bible through the frescos on the walls of their places of worship. Sometimes when we strip away words we behold the beauty of human gestures as if for the first time and the meaning of the story comes into fresh focus. When Ruth silently receives a small sack of grain from Boaz after she has scrabbled in vain for the gleanings in his field, she notices there are some words embroidered across it in black letters. As the masked face angles to read them we see they spell KINDNESS. Nothing more needed to be said.
By Sunday afternoon, I was beginning to feel somewhat dizzy through the combination of the crowds of festival-goers, intense seminars and the constant noise that is an inevitable part of Greenbelt. It was time to seek sanctuary in one of the rooms in the Grandstand set aside for an exhibition called ‘Visionaries’-working in the margins. This was put together for the festival by Wallspace who run an independent gallery in the 18th century church of All Hallows on the Wall in London. Visionaries in this context referred to two kinds of work; that of the dreamer who attempts to depict another form of perceived reality in parallel with the material, everyday world and secondly, a more prophetic vision, a necessary critique of life and institutions as they are, in favour of a vision of how they might be or should be. As I began to look at the paintings I began to slow down. I realized I needed to forget about the time-table of seminars which animated the crowds below and that I had to switch-off whichever side of the brain is activated by theological conundrums. I needed to awaken to the language of colour, line and form. What a relief! I was also aware how I was inclined to systematically work my way through the gallery as though reading a book from cover to cover, or making my way to the local store for a pint of milk. This doesn’t really make much sense in a gallery since each painting is a world in itself inviting us to lose ourselves within its frame and leave behind our linear lives with their notion of getting things done. Would it really matter if I only beheld one painting for the rest of the afternoon if it so captivated me? As I yielded to process of contemplation I was wonderfully refreshed by the exhibition though I sense I have much to learn about appreciating the spiritual power of the visual arts. Looking now at a postcard of one of the paintings from the exhibition, ‘Downland Discourse’ (above) I am aware how the artist, Noel White, invites the spectator to turn away from the devilish world of wild, frenzied activity and walk instead the winding sun-lit path in the company of the iconic saint on the left. At first glance the painting seems rather simplistic with the crude division of the landscape into colour and black and white. However, the saint is dressed in the same grey colour as the demonic world on the right of the image, whereas the devil tones in with the colourful side of the painting. The man in the middle who we are presumably asked to identify with, is drawn initially toward the seductive figure of the devil, but the artist has opened a window, as it were, for us to perceive the darkness and danger of what the demon promises so theatrically . The muted figure of the saint does not wave his arms around but walks quietly by our side. If we can pull ourselves away from the dazzling demon on our right shoulder, we will find a glorious paradise of rest and renewal symbolized by the leaping gazelles, embracing couple and bird in flight across the green meadows. The painting is in fact an icon, calling us to prayer.
Late on Sunday evening I took our tired girls to listen to their Mum playing selections from the work of one of the great spiritual composers of our time, Sir John Tavener with the excellent Greenbelt orchestra assembled by Harry Napier and conducted by the admirable Scott Stroman. Tavener’s music is inspired by the theology and liturgical traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church which he joined in the late seventies. The concert was staged in one of the vast conference halls from which all the seats had been removed which meant that many of the audience could stretch out on the carpeted floor below the stage. The house lights were dimmed leaving just a pinky glow bouncing off the high ceiling of the hall. This created the appropriate atmosphere of a vigil which many of the selections were originally intended for. For my children the music acted more as a lullaby and they slept through much of their mother’s heroics. Since many of the pieces were in homage to Mary the mother of God, that was perhaps exactly the right response for these worn out girls! The soloist was the cellist Matthew Forbes whose playing and instrument responded beautifully to the intense devotional mood evoked by the score. Perhaps music such as this is the most transcendent of all the arts drawing us beyond words and even images into silence and finally sleep. I left Greenbelt, as ever, ready for another year.
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