A Less Remote Place: Art Ecology and Dalziel + Scullion

Judith Findlay

It's an ordinary weekday evening. The children are in bed. The baby is also asleep, between feeds. This is when, like many parents everywhere, after a hectic day on the go filled relentlessly (gloriously and noisily) to the brim with childish and domestic concerns, I am able to spend some time on other things: watching a film, listening to music, reading a book or magazine, writing. These are things I used to do much more of before becoming a parent--before, when I was involved in 'work' and 'art' not 'home' and 'domesticity; before, when, it now seems, I had time enough to spare. These days things have changed a lot. Priorities (and desires) have altered. Perspectives and foci have shifted. And art (and writing about art) has become a little more marginal, distant--or at least not as central in my life as it once was. Tonight though as it happens, I am leafing through some articles about the artists Matthew Dalziel and Louise Scullion. They and their work seem somehow relevant to my present home-life--to my present situation.

For the concepts of 'distance' and 'marginality'--if you like, the home-life of Dalziel and Scullion--have always seemed relevant for an understanding of their practice even as their practice has provided a way of understanding the concept of 'not being central'. Thus, their 'remoteness'--the fact that for the most part of their partnership they have apparently lived and worked as artists at a distance from the cities and therefore from the 'art world'--has before now seemed important and therefore, worth mentioning. Their situation, living, as they were, in a small (now well documented) fishing cottage in the village of St Combs on the north east coast of Scotland, I felt, had a special significance. It seemed to mark them out as different and even had a quite exotic appeal. But Dalziel and Scullion now live amongst 'the bright lights and busy streets' of Dundee-in a city, an art world, a place that is less remote. The question is has the act of moving 'nearer' changed Dalziel and Scullion's work? Has their shift changed the work's difference (its distinction), its appeal?

For previously, the geography in which Dalziel and Scullion chose to locate themselves--the landscape (and seascape) that they took as reference--seemed to matter. This place, deemed 'outside art', combines and confuses the natural and the man-made and the ancient and the modern. It is flat and stark (some might say bleak)--an environment of 'Edward Hopper' light, of long, deserted beaches and white lighthouses and of 'strange' modern installations related to oil, gas, farming, fishing and national defence: a fascinating 'non-art' place that seemed important to write about and to identify (artistically). It seemed necessary and desirable therefore (indeed, in a way, wonderfully seductive) to name 'distant', 'rural' places where apparently no art galleries, artists or art exist: the 'artistically non-existent'. This was where for ten years Dalziel and Scullion lived and worked, where they filmed, recorded and photographed, walked and drove, sat and gazed, gained source material, imagery, information, and inspiration. The Bathers, Sargassum, The Gifted Child, The Most Beautiful Thing, Wing and The Horn: these are a few of the art works conceived here. Rattray Head, Macduff, the Loch of Strathbeg, St Fergus, Crimond Airfield, Cruden Bay: these are some of the wonderful names that pinpoint places where they made these and other art works and models of and for ideas, sometimes to be shown 'here' and at other times to be shown 'elsewhere'. These places and their people seemed to be what their work was about; what identified it. For me this was absolutely, 'the lure of the local' , and, to put this more accurately, the lure of the local seen through artistic eyes. For even as I 'sifted through' and listed these 'invisible' places (in art journals, catalogues and the like) I caused them to become visible. It's as Jonathan Bate and Lucy Lippard point out respectively: 'to name a place is allow that place its being.' 'Every place name is a story, an outcropping of the shared tales that form the bedrock of community. Untold land is unknown land.' In other words, by circulating these places within networks of artistic meaning these places were given--however slight and transient (however 'romantic' or created)--artistic meaning. For a time at least they were given artistic identities.

This point then highlights something interesting both about 'remoteness' in general and about Dalziel and Scullion's 'artistic remoteness' specifically. And, before I further alienate all the many excellent practitioners who do actually live and work in this so called artistic wilderness--the artists, curators, gallery owners, administrators, researchers, organisers and writers--I should stress that it also underlines how the concept of 'remoteness' might be 'spun'--interpreted or colluded on, represented or indeed misrepresented.

As the dictionary tells us, meanings of the word 'remote' include, 'distantly related or connected' and 'aloof or abstracted'. But, what becomes clear on scrutiny of Dalziel and Scullion's back catalogue is that for all their 'remoteness' they were (and are) very well connected indeed. What becomes apparent as well, on examination of their 'method'--how they have lived and worked 'remotely'--is that they were 'rooted': not aloof or abstract but rather in touch with and sensitive to the material, the concrete, the practical and the personal. They were one might say, to use Bate's words again, not concerned with obtaining a picturesque view of things so much as involving themselves in 'an exploration of the inter-relatedness of perception and creation [and engaging in] a meditation on the networks which link mental and environmental space.' This further suggests then that even as they were rooted or located, they were, at the same time, not fixed. They were mobile and they did travel (intellectually as well as physically). Now they have moved, and, at the time of writing, specifically, for source material, they have travelled to northern Scandinavia. It seems a good time then to write about Dalziel and Scullion's work again--to look at it in a new light and context. Has their change of place (their change of a permanent base) and scrutiny of different places changed their work? Has it changed what originally drew me to them and their practice?

One might answer 'yes' and 'no'. Yes, of course their work now becomes about different landscapes (and so yes, in a way this does change what for me was a definite pull of their work: especially seen through Dalziel and Scullion's eyes, the north east coast of Aberdeenshire is attractive). And yes, they and their work become less characterised by being 'faraway'--now they are much 'closer'. However, more interesting than this I think--and more importantly--is how their re-location (and arguably their approximation) doesn't change their fundamental concerns (or my joy in their work) at all. Somehow their move highlights these interests, these pleasures. It improves and develops them. For it occurs to me that even as the attraction of their work may be to do with how they see and experience a particular place, the value of their research and output lies in their enquiry and interpretation of how places are actually 'hybrids' or 'amalgams' of different places. For a sense of place simultaneously combines experiences of 'here' and 'there', 'now and 'then', how we think of a place and how it actually is.

'it seems that you can sense the simultaneous presence of everywhere in the place where you are standing. Conceptualised in terms of the geography of social relations, what is happening is that the social relations which constitute a locality increasingly stretch beyond its borders; less and less of these relations are contained within the place itself.'

Which suggests that,
'the very notion of remotenessis itself a polarity, inseparable from its counterpart, because it is defined by its relationship to something characterised as its centre.So we should be careful with this interesting concept of the edge and keep in mind that one person's margin may be another's heartland.'

Just to emphasise then, it was not Dalziel and Scullion's 'remoteness' per se that was interesting, but rather, the connections--and indeed the social relations--that they made from, interjected into and cultivated within, that 'remoteness'. While one must undoubtedly recognise the beauty of their aesthetic and the richness of their content clearly one has to acknowledge what might be called the worth of their method. And this has something to do with a perception of the particularities of their immediate surroundings which Thomas Hardy describes as 'local knowledge' coupled with knowledge and imagination of 'elsewhere'. Which is to say that 'remoteness' is relative. The question is, 'remote to what?'.

At this point, one might talk about how 'remoteness' is becoming 'less remote'. One could debate for example, issues of 'globalisation', 'technology', instantaneous worldwide communication', and the apparent 'break-up of what were once local coherencies, and a new and violent phase of "time space compression".' I think these are all things that Dalziel and Scullion have shown an interest in. But, that is for another time. Rather, what I am more interested in here is something related but perhaps more abstract or theoretical--or indeed more simple and straightforward. For what I want to focus in on is this notion of connections.

For if 'connections'--and in fact 'social relations--is the concept we must hold on to then it seems to me that a word such as 'remoteness', and indeed words such as 'here' and 'there, 'near' and 'far'--at least as far as Dalziel and Scullion are concerned--just won't do. I want to propose then that a different word is used--one that embodies 'connections'. I want to propose the use of the word ecology, and, particularly, the use of the term art ecology.
What might the basics of 'art ecology' be and what might its beginnings mean in terms of the work of Dalziel and Scullion? How might it start to take form? In the first instance, one might focus on Dalziel and Scullion's concerns for the environment, for the landscape and for the 'natural'. One might examine their interest in the ways in which humans interact with nature (and with the idea of nature). One could for instance look at a work such as Modern Nature (with its capercallie call) in terms of conservation and extinction. One might examine the flight of birds juxtaposed with the requirements and desires of humans to move fast and far around the globe by referring to Migrator. Or one might study the pros and cons of humans' forays into 'wilderness' as implied by Voyager: the need and desire of humans to travel, and to explore new places-to take risks-coupled with the awareness that then the 'purity' of these places is changed for ever. As Bate stresses 'ecology...emphasizes the interconnectedness of all things' and as (art) ecologists it could be argued that Dalziel and Scullion make art works that imply the 'wholeness' of a living earth' that requires and thrives on the 'intricacy and precision of its interconnected working parts - winds, currents, rocks, plants, animals, weathers' . In essence therefore Dalziel and Scullion make art works that show a care for the world.

More than this though, their care (their art ecology) extends to and comprises concern for a whole living cultural world: they emphasise a world that is interconnected and made dynamic by cultural working parts--cultural forces and cultural connections. Television and radio, films and music, architecture and design, the media and consumerism, literature and of course art, together with images and objects, rituals, relationships, practices, perceptions, needs and beliefs that embody people's everyday lives influence and inspire their work. In other words, it can be argued that their work requires and thrives on the interconnectedness of nature and culture. It is an ecological art. It is also an artistic ecology. Crucially then the move from the country to the city is not so very great for it seems that Dalziel and Scullion have always examined (and revelled in) how these interrelate. They have involved themselves in, and depicted, an exploration of--and a meditation on--the ways in which a place is a hybrid of the rural and the urban.

For Dalziel and Scullion use and make conspicuous an ecological perception that acknowledges what might be called a 'landscape narrative' . This narrative recognises that humans must (positively) take their place alongside other things in nature just as art must takes its place alongside other things in culture. One is involved in a journey-a journey in and through a landscape that is real and conceptual. It's a story if you like that is cultural as much as it is natural, arguably urban as much as it is rural, central as much as it is remote, and domestic as much as it is non-domestic. This then brings me to another point about ecology: it implies a connection with home-life (with dwelling and with how one lives in the world). This seems entirely apt with regard to Dalziel and Scullion. For they stress the rituals of daily lives-not only in terms of their artworks but actually in terms of (contained within, as it were) the everyday. It's not just that I can visit, and view their artworks in galleries and in other public places. It's not only that I can buy and own their multiples (or even that I have a couple of their works here in my house). It's more to do with how they imply that simple, mundane tasks and routines are in themselves art (and in a sense then their art doesn't necessarily rely on the mediation of an artwork). Thus, for example, the brewing of coffee, an orange held up against a blue sky, the buying and wearing of perfume, the eating of an apple, a family photograph, an electric fire, the lighting of a candle, a drive in a car, a recipe, a walk, a thought or a memory become art. So as I sit here surrounded by TV and toys, my sons packed off in the car so that I can finish this, my baby daughter about to waken for attention, and the debris of lunch and 'messy time' still on the kitchen table, the ecology of Dalziel and Scullion seem appropriate for me too. For it provides a way-a technique if you like-of shedding light on my situation: of making where I am (and perhaps where others like me are) artistically relevant. It offers 'genuine continuity' between art and home-life. Domesticity is worth mentioning-in terms of art it is significant. Moreover, as Rita Felski has pointed out too, 'the boundaries between home and non-home are leaky' : home is a hybrid, an amalgam as well. So even as the world of art may sometimes seem remote to me now, and here, Dalziel and Scullion's story-their 'narrative of artistic interaction'-is one in which I can find a place. It's one with which I can identify. For even as it 'defies the mundane' (takes me out of myself, puts me somewhere else) it re-creates, and re-connects, the mundane (everyday routines, social contexts and social experiences) as, and with, something special, something transcendent. It brings me nearer.


1 See for example my interview with Dalziel and Scullion. Judith Findlay, 'Matthew Dalziel and Louise Scullion: An Interview with Judith Findlay', in Art & Design (Profile No. 46, Public Art), 1996, pp. 17-23.
2This is to use Lucy Lippard's term. See Lucy Lippard, The Lure of the Local (The New Press: New York, 1997).
3 Jonathan Bate, The Song of the Earth, (Picador: London, 2000), p. 175.
4 Lucy Lippard, p. 46.
5Jonathan Bate, p. 148.
6 See, Angelika Bammer, 'Editorial', New Formations, no. 17 (summer, 1992), and Doreen Massey, 'A Place Called Home', New Formations, no. 17 (summer, 1992).
7Doreen Massey, p. 7.
8Francois Matarasso, 'On the Edge: Art, Culture and Rural Communities', conference paper, Duff House, Aberdeenshire, 31 May, 2001(unpublished).
9Doreen Massey, p. 3.
10 Jonathan Bate, p. 27.
11There are precedents for bringing culture and ecology together. Jonathan Bate's project of linking literature and ecology is one; Neil Postman's is another. Having coined the term media ecology he offers this description: 'Media Ecology looks into the matter of how media communication affect human perception, understanding, feeling and value; and how our interaction with media facilitates or impedes our chances of survival. The word ecology implies the study of environments: their structure, content and impact on people. An environment is, after all, a complex message system which imposes on human beings certain ways of thinking, feeling and behaving.' Neil Postman, 'The Reformed English Curriculum', in Alvin C. Eurich (ed.), High School 1980: The Shape of the Future in American Secondary Education (Pitman: New York, 1970), p.161.
12Lippard describes landscape as 'hermetic narrative: "Finding a fitting place for oneself in the world is finding a place for oneself in a story". The story is composed of mythologies, histories, ideologies - the stuff of identity and representation.' See Lucy Lippard, p. 33.
13The word 'ecology'-the prefix 'eco'-is derived from Greek oikos, meaning 'home or place of dwelling'.
14 See Colin Painter, The Uses of an Artist: Constable in Constable Country Now (Ipswich: Ipswich Borough Council Museums and Galleries, 1998) and Colin Painter, At Home With Art (London: Hayward Gallery Publishing, 1999).
15Rita Felski, 'The Invention of Everyday Life', New Formations, no. 39, p. 24.
16See Simon Frith, Performing Rites: On the Value of Popular Music (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), p. 275.

© Judith Findlay 2002