Art

On the tile floor is Colombia. A sculptured mound of brown earth: two coasts, the Amazon, a peninsula in the north, and the Andes split into three – central, east and west.
A pale, hairy arm emerges from the eastern range. The hand lies still, palm down, across the humid eastern plains. From the highest peaks of the central range pokes a masculine nose. Death lies beneath Colombian soil.
Art.
A Cadaver becomes art, a message; anger, sad and silent. I look at Colombia spread across the floor. The arm is real. It absorbs my vision. From behind the white tape I look, bewildered, mouth open, breath slow, blank.
And suddenly it moves. Uuup and dooowwn. Slowly. Colombia is breathing; it is alive.

Upstairs in the gallery are photographs of war, torment and hardship in the Americas. Each photographer’s name is written with a brief description below the black and white prints: ‘Nicaragua’, ‘Guatemala’, ‘Prostitute’ and ‘Refugee’. The photos are beautiful.

Is this resistance? Seeking beauty in misery? Composing the right elements – the dirt floor foreground, diagonal lines, an anguished look towards oblivion, the dark evening clouds looming on the horizon? I’m not the first to address this contradiction. What role does art play in social change?

I can only think that peace emerging from war is not merely a physical change but an ethical and cultural change in which beauty and discussion play a critical part. Art, at least at its best, is a dialogue.

Bullet Holes in the door of a small, family home - A 1am reminder that Colombia is not at peace

A new friend and fellow photographer, Jonny Lewis, told me a story. He was exhibiting in Paris in a group show. His photograph was a portrait of an Aboriginal elder in northern Australia, a woman with the leathery, weatherworn face of a sea turtle. A Parisian woman approached the photograph slowly, one leg moving in unison with a walking stick, her back hunched with age. The woman looked up at Jonny’s photo. “Bonjour Madam,” she said.

Communication. Art at its best! The question, then, is what each of us chooses to say.