Happy Valentine's Day

What to do on a cold, blustery and WET Saturday afternoon in uptown Newport?  What will warm the cockles of my chilly little heart and take me away from my garret room view of stripped trees and sludge-brown roof tiles?  Ah, I know: I shall think of romance, of St Valentine and a recent Tuesday evening of carefully chosen tunes, intimate contact and gifts being exchanged.  No: not a meal with my lover, but the latest Le Pub Photo Extravaganza which just happened to be scheduled for February 14th.

The evening didn't start with romance though: no heady positivity and soft focus vibe from James Kieran Doran.  In fact, he got us ready and all set for doom and gloom with the title of his work, 'We Live, We Influence.  We Die, We Vanish'.  The Doc Phot 2nd year was very honest about the personal nature of the work charting his own emotional and thought journey.  His admission of being pessimistic and negative was supposed to be reflected in the images, but I didn't really get this at all and actually, this wasn't a problem.  Doran's work was meant to say, 'This is me; this is how I feel, but you might feel differently and read the images differently' and I did. 

The 'journey' along a disused railway line took the view through paths overhung by threatening branches, under bridges and out into the open.  An alternative reading could be that the rich palette of browns and greens speak of abundance (even in Winter) and a promise of yet more life to come in the future.  He wanted to 'use landscape to illustrate the cruel fact of mortality', but actually he simply made me want to go for a walk in the same environment myself!  The work could also be seen politically: this line once served the industry of Ebbw Vale, an industry which supported thousands of workers and their families.  With the destruction of the British Steel industry, the plants closed down and have since been demolished; all that remains are gaps in the landscape and the ghost of the railway.

(Apologies for the 'grab and paste' images and the fact they are not necessarily in the right order...)

And now for something completely different:  Eugenijus Giena Barzdžius' portraits of monks from Palendriai Monastery of St. Benedict.  Presented as 'work in progress', the series will eventually form part of a larger body of work which focuses on the spiritual community in Lithuania.  The photographer's strategy was to remove the monks from the context of their surroundings, in order that the viewer could focus on the subject without distraction.  Presented as individual portraits, shot with controlled studio lighting (Barzdžius was able to explain EXACTLY what he did – including distances between subject and light source) we notice how each man holds himself and how each black garment falls; we see the twinkle in one monk's eye and the tension held in another's neck.  There is a respectful intimacy to the portraits, we are close enough in our imagination to reach out and touch the hem of their garments (out of shot) and perhaps attain some kind of absolution.

It would have been so easy to produce a series of images which are the cliché of religious portraiture, but  Barzdžius manages to avoid this.  There is no 'light from Heaven' bathing each man in metaphorical glory; the lighting is more subtle than this.  By shooting the bodies 'side on' and allowing each man to look where he wishes, we are allowed to see a little of the private world; the monks are not instructed to look directly in to camera and therefore seem more 'real': they are individuals who have made a pact with God, rather than just representatives of faith.

My favourite is definitely the portrait of Brother Kazimieras: there is something about the life in his eyes that suggests a monk with a sense of humour and I am strangely drawn to the delicate folds in his neck.  Is that a bit odd?  (Let's leave that as a rhetorical question, shall we.)

The evening then shifted from the contemplative and holy to the cruelty of a political system which treats women as breeders who need to be controlled (almost at any cost.)  Claire Kern's work, made in India and entitled 'Silent Genocide' deals with the sterilisation of Tibetan women as part of the Chinese policy to control population numbers.  The body of work which was over a year in the organisation, saw Claire in India for three months last year, befriending Tibetan women who had fled their home country and who were seeking refuge in India.  Presented as a multi-media piece, the photographer offered a series of photographs accompanied by harrowing text and a soundtrack made up of birdsong and first person testimony (untranslated.)

The combination of the simple, almost macro close-ups of eyes, scars and jewellery and the sound of real women sharing their stories was a powerful combination.  The images hinted at lives led, hopes shattered and dreams yet to come; the musicality of the speech patterns played with imaginations and invited the audience to write each individual's story.  One fellow photographer summed up their response to the work with the phrase, 'It hits me quite hard' and another acknowledged how the strategy 'makes you search harder for the meaning.'

The discussion surrounding the issues highlighted in the work was the longest of the night and it was fascinating to find out more about how Kern worked.  She shared with us stories of political prisoners and the horrors of the 'Chinese Ring' and had a powerful effect one women and men alike.

After the last Le Pub session, I described three of the contributors as 'The Big Boys', a tongue-in-cheek bit of nomenclature which was meant to reflect their status within student photographic practice and now I find myself of adding another of their cohort to the 'gang'.  Jack Latham's sensitive project about his grandmother and the loss of her health and home was powerful, moving and memorable.  

I particularly loved the colour images made inside the walls of her former family home and felt more than one little twinge of emotion when I thought about the personal objects left behind to be destroyed by rising damp and the property developers loitering aggressively on the sidelines.  What is it about a cardboard box and a paper carrier bag filled with possessions on a bare mattress that is so powerful?  Actually, it isn't just those objects which literally suggest a life packed up, but it's the strange light fitting with its shade that appears to have  a craned neck as it searches the room for someone to illuminate.  I'm guessing that this used to be grandma's reading light: how sad that it is now redundant.

Latham forces us to look at the stains on walls and floors, on a chair which once was comfortable and a vacuum cleaner leaning in a corner.  Quiet elements of domesticity, marooned in the silence of the empty home.  Whilst the work is personal and filled with love for his own grandmother (now in her 90s and living with his family), it also stands for every older person who is forced to make a choice, who needs to leave their own home to live out the remains of their days in a different form of accommodation.  This usually requires 'downsizing', a curiously unemotional term for something which can be so incredibly distressing and Latham's images make us imagine what this would be like.  

'Empty Houses' is actually in three parts.  The second is further large format images, but this time outside the home and shot in black and white.  We see the remains of his grandmother's garden – the overgrown brambles and trees and plants cut back (shockingly, by the potential developers who did not have permission to enter the land and wreak havoc.)  The skeletal interweaving of plant-life reflects the chaos and destruction of the Eden that used to be so important.  

In the Q & A session afterwards, Latham was disparaging about the inclusion of the single telegraph pole standing cruciform in the back ground of more than one image: he hadn't even noticed it when composing the original frame, only discovering the shape on processing and printing the negative.  He referred to the cliché of the religious iconography and poked gentle fun at himself for his lack of observation.  My feeling is that sometimes a cliché is absolutely fine within an image and he really shouldn't be so hard on himself – after all, he is a big boy now.

Finally, the series ended with a picture of his new born niece Ruby.  He described his work as being similar to poetry – 'It doesn't say a lot, but it can suggest many things': the little girl invites the viewer/reader to consider the obvious ideas such as new life and hope, but perhaps too the idea that it isn't actually the material things that are truly important in life – it is the people we love.

Onto Oliver Norcott, 1st year Photo Art...  Norcott presented work that was designed to show his development as an Artist, and his move from Graphic Design towards a style which incorporates photography and other art forms.  He was obviously a very good designer and if I were him, I'd be feeling pretty confident about a future marriage between the different disciplines.

The work on Reality and Representation, using the 3d mirrored cube amongst the natural world was a big hit with some of the audience.  Aesthetically playful, the images were inspired by 'Plato's Allegory of the Cave', but as I don't know what this is and I haven't got the time at the moment to find out, I can't comment on the work's success in relation to philosophical ideas!  (Call myself a 'reviewer'?)  Another viewer suggested that the work was an exploration of photography itself and the importance of the mirror within the camera, helping the artist to reflect upon the world and its concerns. 

However, I did understand the work on 'Postmodern Dystopia' -well, the dystopia that is the large out of town supermarket.  The headless bodies of staff and customers are both unsettling and 'real'.  The brutal cropping speaks of a faceless, brainless humanity moving amongst the aisles.  But how many of us do actually look down and refuse to make eye contact when in those places?  How about a challenge – next time we go to Tesco or Sainsbury's smile at and say hello to everyone...

Norcott confessed that he likes visual experimentation; joining the Photo Art course has allowed him to explore what it means to be restricted to photographic processes.  To be tied to one discipline could be seen as a hindrance, but to Norcott it should bring real freedom.  I look forward to seeing his work in the third year!

Meg Beaumont offered a gentle and rather lovely end to the evening.  The work in progress that 'really is not finished' came with apologies and a plea to 'not rip me apart'.  The audience, already in a fine mood after a series of discussions and a few drinks was very happy to oblige.  It was Beaumont's work that made me remember it was Valentine's night as so many of the images were PRETTY.  Now, don't even begin to assume that I mean this in a negative way and that I am suggesting a saccharine, easy to swallow sort of aesthetic – not at all – I just mean that the work was visually and emotionally rather lovely and many of the images made me feel all warm and fluffy inside.

I can't remember who said that good work should elicit some sort of emotional response in the viewer (if it comes back to me I will let you know), but these uncomplicated images of coast paths, flowers and objects associated with beach huts definitely moved me.  It could have been her strategy of using a 1950's Ilford Sporty and the resultant softness of focus that suggested a dreaming and other worldliness of her experience; it could have been the slightly surreal colour palette – but whatever it was, she had me hooked.  I absolutely loved the incorporation of family slides into her work – an unidentified woman resplendent in bathing costume pins down 'her man' to the grass, her foot firmly planted against his chest.  He is bare chested, yet still wears his rather smart trousers: rather coy in the face of such a potentially amorous attack.  The image is so wonderfully joyous and innocent and I wish the world were still the same in many ways.

Later work becomes more enigmatic, and Beaumont captures bird footprints on the ground following the death of a beloved grandma (grandmothers are proving incredibly important to our photographers: if you still have one, grab her and hug her!)  We see flock wallpaper and gently billowing curtains.  The work talks about memory and nostalgia, about how things change and shift and how photography can help capture moments and hints of moments so that they won't be lost.

The work is truly lovely.

..................................................

p.s. Additional highlights of the evening included the rather successful print swap and the mobile phone link with a certain Mr Norton who was unable to attend the event in person.  Thanks Alex, once again, your contributions brought a smile to our faces.


http://www.ffotogallery.org/book-arts-fayre-2012

Interested to see more?  Here are some links

Jack Latham:                       http://www.jacklatham.com/

Giena:                                   http://www.giena.lt

Meg Beaumont:                  http://hellomegbeau.tumblr.com/

Claire Kern:                          http://clairekern.wordpress.com/

James Kieran Doran:         http://cargocollective.com/jameskieran#/We-Live-We-Influence-We-Die-We-Vanish

Palendriai Monastery of St. Benedict:  http://www.palendriai.lt/#1

Tibet and the control of birth rate:         http://www.tibet.org/Activism/Rights/birthcontrol.html

p.p.s. Don't forget ffotogallery's Book Arts Fayre on Saturday 25th Feb...  You'll be able to purchase work by some of this week's featured artists and many others.

http://www.ffotogallery.org/book-arts-fayre-2012

A Night of Concepts

If you were a visitor coming to the Le Pub for the first time, you would be forgiven for thinking that folks at Newport no longer make 'straight' narrative photography.  Prepared to show work and bare artistic souls to the audience were representatives from the 2nd and 3rd years at the university and the work took us from  bedroom to studio to street, from the UK to Cyprus, Berlin and Sicily.  It was a night of visual adventure and once more, did not disappoint.

First up was Ewan Paton with his series, The Assembly Line.  Paton is a Fashion and Advertising photographer and in some ways you could tell.  The images on show were slick, clean and impeccably styled.  Blank faced handsome models, dressed in simple collarless shirts found themselves working with simple, yet clever props and in plain white spaces to create the robots of the assembly line itself.  Much was made of his girlfriend's makeup mirror and I did find myself wondering how hard  it had been for the models to hold poses whilst mirrors were held using an extended arm and in another image, the mouth. 

Why would one even notice such things, you might ask.  Well, Paton gave a running commentary of the way each image was constructed.  This was mightily generous of him, and was done just in case anyone else wanted to use the devices in their own work.  Was this a mistake?  He'd obviously spent a long time working out how to make mirrors appear to float in front of the face and now we can all go and do the same thing.  The other downside of the technical commentary was that although the work was designed to be produced as a book and have a determined 'pace', the explanations slowed everything down and for me, took away the 'punch' of certain pics.  Others in the audience disagreed, they were obviously very happy to have the benefit of Paton's experimentation and discovery: I hope that one day they will return the favour.

The next photographer is not not going to be respresented here fully as I haven't been able to get hold of them to get copies of his pics.

Steven/Stephen Duffy's work explores the relationship between darkness and light and asks the viewer to consider what it is like to experience darkness (of the interior kind) and be given hope by pinpricks of 'light' which could come in the form of – well, anything that might make us feel just a little bit better.  To do this, he has photographed streetlights at night, exposing the images just enough to provide a halo of light (in the darkness) without providing us with contextual information about the geographical location.  Presented in two sets of three images, the pair of triptychs form a 'circle' that represents the movement in and out of darkness and in and out of depression.  Unfortunately, I can't show you an example of his work, so here is something I found using Google images:

There was some discussion following his presentation about the reasoning behind the number of final images in the set.  Was six too few?  Would the viewer like to see more sets?  Many in the audience who offered an opinion seemed to agree that the six made for completion: no more were needed.  Perhaps one reason for this is that six images of streetlights in the darkness is aesthetically attractive; additional sets might underline the unoriginality of the idea and the banality of the work. Personally, I wanted to see more.

Lianne Bowens' pictures were also aesthetically appealing.  She'd gone to a lot of effort to transform her bedroom into a camera obscura and why not?  The view from her window of the river is stunning.  Through her images, we see light change and water rise and fall; we see nature captured upside down in full colour, almost transluscent against the white walls.  One of the refreshing things about this work was the artist's approach: she wasn't trying to do anything particularly new (after all, camera obscuras have been around for centuries.)  By watching the weather play itself out against her walls, she was/is prepared to play, to observe, to explore.  This seems to be a work about being part of the world, and at the same time, separate from it: it is a meditation.  She is also experimenting with moving image, speeding up the frames so that we see the clouds 'racing' across the sky and the water's ebb and flow at a hyper-real speed.  By playing with time, we lose ourselves.

My favourite images were the simplest: the cast of the sky thrown in relief across wall and door; I was less keen on those that involved 'trickery' (well, the turning upside down of the image to reveal a bedframe seemingly suspended from the ceiling.)  In my view, the artist does not need to be 'clever' about making the pictures, the view is enough.

And now to the 'big boys' (and it's nothing to do with their physical stature)...  Sam Laughlin, Alexander Norton and Pietro Motisi are all final year Documentary Photography students and when  folk accuse Doc Phot of thinking they are the 'best', well these guys are one of the reasons why... 

Sam  Laughlin shifted proceedings up an intellectual and aesthetic gear with two projects.  The first, Geschichte, provoked a little titter from those in the room who thought the word had scatological connotations, but actually it is the German for 'History'.  The images, when projected large onto the screen seem monumental, like natural edifices of rock and stone of the sort captured by Ansel Adams and his large format camera in the first half of the 20thcentury.  They also bring to mind, Joan Fontcuberta's 'Landscapes Without Memory', for when one starts to notice the details, they don't look quite 'real'.  Just as Lianne plays with time and perception, so Laughlin does the same with scale.  Shot at night in building sites across Berlin, the mountains and peaks are actually piles of rubble: insignificant mounds of dirt and debris.  

And this is one of the clever elements of Laughlin's project: by making the viewer experience a little 'ooh, ah' moment at the realisation of the strategy, he then gets us to consider the reasoning behind it.  He referenced Walter Benjamin and his assertion that history is the piling up of events, one on top of the other; each of Laughlin's images silently hints at not only the history of Berlin (the bombs during WWII, the carving up of the city at the end of the war, the erection and final dismantling of The Wall) but European history in general.  Its history of destruction and its ability to build again.  

The second body of work, Pulver is potentially controversial.  In my house, books are sacrosanct, pencilling a line in a margin could get you sent to bed without any supper, and here is Laughlin burning eighteen 'great' and 'important' works for effect.  Steering clear of religious texts – so as not to cause offence – the books were selected for their influence not only on Nazi and Communist ideology, but also on the development of rational thought.  In destroying each text and then photographing what remains, the artist wants the viewer to think about knowledge itself and how so much of it is held in print.  What does it mean to burn a book that one has not ever read?  Does this mean actually that the knowledge no longer is accessible to the viewer?  What is the chance of Laughlin ever actually reading all of the books that he burned?  To go and seek out new copies would diminish the artistic act of destruction.

This is one project where the technical details of making the work are as important as the concept itself.  Laughlin's approach is meticulous. The resultant ash is manipulated into a pile and photographed.  The images are printed on fibre-based paper, coated with handmade liquid emulsion containing some of the ash itself.  The print shows us the image of the remains of the book, but is also itself partly the remains of the book.  We look at the image, can read the height of the ash pile and consider how substantial/insubstantial the book actually was.  I am very excited about seeing the final prints.

Alexander Norton's Nothings Happening(sic) offered viewers some breathing space.  From the black and white starkness of Laughlin, we moved happily into the full colour world of the watcher and explorer.  Described as having a 'childlike' eye by one audience member, Norton is not a complicated photographer, however, do not be fooled by the seeming naivety of his images.  There is depth beneath.

Made during a trip to Spain, Norton this is part of an ongoing exploration into the idea of the 'quiet' spaces which surround holiday destinations and which many people never notice.  Norton photographs kerbsides and pigeons, almost empty beaches and private moments between holiday makers who are unaware of being observed.  One audience member compared him to Martin Parr, but this is far from it.  Whereas Parr's images are often harsh and unforgiving, Norton's are gentle and affectionate.  Visually, the colours are not Parr like either: there is no brashness here, no hyper-reality for effect.  A couple of us turned to each other and mouthed, 'Stephen Shore' and 'William Eggleston', but although closer to it, it seems wrong to make such comparisons.  It is almost as if Norton has his own appreciation and understanding of colour: his own palette for talking about the 'anti-decisive' moment (his phrase, not mine.)

Although the series is called Nothings Happening, things are going on in some of the images.  A grandmother stands quietly with her grand-daughter as they look out to sea; a couple run along the beach.  Each image is heavy with emotion, yet subtle too.  One audience member wanted a narrative, felt that this would make the work stronger and I say, NO!  This is not the case.  One of the many strengths in this work is the space within the images for the viewer to write their own story.  I look at the grandmother and miss my own.  It is also interesting that Norton has carefully and deliberately constructed the images to ensure that the hustle and bustle of the holiday world is out of view, out of shot.  Instead of 'Nothings happening', everything is happening.  Elsewhere.

There was one image that jarred, for me it was too obvious, too descriptive, too clumsy.  Interestingly, a couple of others in the room seemed to love it.  Evidence of the subjective power of photography and the validity of our own responses.  I post the image below and leave you to make up your own mind.

The evening ended with a 'guest' presenter – Pietro Motisi – and his series Cemento.  He gave us a sort of typology of the use of concrete in Sicily, but with colour and life.  Made in his home country, the search for, study and presentation of concrete is all tied up with the identity of the Sicilian people (and not because of the Mafia association with the material) and their relationship with the landscape.

But it's not just about how concrete is used, but also about the history of Italian photography and how landscape photography is not part of the Italian artistic culture.  Just as landscape painting was the poor relation to portraiture before the early 19thcentury, so landscape photography lags behind reportage in terms of interest and exposure in 21stcentury Italy.  Motisi may well be on his way to changing this though: his work is beautiful.

(Images to follow are copied from Alex Norton's blog:)

One can see the layers of history within the images; tower blocks loom over a 19thcentury cemetery; a mausoleum stands on a hill; a piece of 'land art' (a huge concrete frame) offers a window on the sea.  Working with a 5 x 4 field camera, Motisi is able to capture the tiny details and our eyes are drawn to a red jumper drying on a balcony and the photographs of the long dead on tombstones.  He offers us a new view of Sicily, a new set of landscapes to fill our imaginations.

I started this review by commenting that this was a Le Pub event that focused on the conceptual, but it also focused on the real.  A good night with some great discussion.  Thank you, everyone.

If anyone wants to buy work by Laughlin, Norton or Motisi – you can do so at the Ffotogallery Book Arts Fayre on February 25th.

http://www.ewanpaton.com/

http://samuel-laughlin.tumblr.com/

www.cargocollective.com/alexandernorton

http://www.pietromotisi.it/

http://ffotogallerybookartsfayre.wordpress.com/

Removal of material from blog

In my previous blog post, I quoted from correspondence relating to and following on from a 'debate' at Le Pub concerning the 'Dead Pan Aesthetic' work of Tim Sayer.  In response to a request from the other party, and in compliance with copyright law (I checked this on t'internet this morning), I am going to edit the aforementioned post.

Anyone not sure about the law regarding letters (I am assuming that Facebook messages sent privately will fit here) and who is interested, please read on:

"The property in a letter in terms of its ownership belongs to the recipient, being the party to whom it is addressed. The recipient can, if he wishes, destroy the letter and, if it passes out of his possession, sue for its recovery. However, this does not mean he can do what he likes with the letter or its contents, as to which there are two main qualifications.

The first is that copyright in the letter belongs to the writer, so that the recipient may not copy or publish it without the writer's consent but, as with any other copyright work, information contained in the document, though not its precise words, may be communicated to a third party without the writer's consent, unless - which leads me to the second qualification - such information is of a private and confidential nature or unless, where the writer himself has published the letter to a third party, the recipient also needs to publish it in order to refute an attack on his character or reputation contained in it.

Marking a letter with words to the effect that it is intended as 'private and confidential' does not necessarily make it so, although it is evidence of the writer's intention and, as such, has a persuasive effect. An obvious example where such a designation would not be effective is where the contents of the letter relate to matters or events which are in the public domain. Whether or not information contained in a letter is to be regarded in law as private and confidential is a matter of fact in each case and, interestingly, there is a section in the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 which expressly stipulates that nothing in the relevant part of the Act affects the operation of any rule of equity relating to breaches of trust or confidence. The same applies to any rule of law preventing or restricting enforcement of copyright on grounds of public interest or otherwise...

Copying can be licensed and any confidentiality can be waived by the writer (or other copyright owner) of a letter if he is so inclined."

This is an extract from, http://www.thestage.co.uk/connect/eagle/0520.php

A Night to Remember - Le Pub, Tuesday December 6th

This is an edited version of my original post.  I have removed half of the correspondence as per the request of the writer.


For those who had to sit through the 'argument' at the end of the Le Pub session and who were interested to know the outcome:


Wednesday 7th December:  Facebook mail from me to the other party.
Dear ....
I thought might be interesting to arrange for a coffee and a discussion at some point - so that we can talk about the points raised at Le Pub. The 'debate' got a bit confused, and it would be good to have the opportunity to talk about the issues raised by Tim's work without shouting across a crowded room!

When I got home, I couldn't work out if you were angry with him because of the 'Genocide' photograph itself, or because of his argument that all deaths are basically the same. You seemed to be telling him that he shouldn't make the work/have this opinion as it was abhorrent and wrong. You seemed to think that he was belittling the experiences of the millions who have died at the hands of tyrants (in particular those killed during WWII) and whilst the work could certainly be read in that way, personally I don't believe that to be his intention, nor the effect of it. 


Perhaps it is partly a cultural response to the work, we British are famous for our 'black humour': there is a real tendency to make jokes about very dark situations and as Jason suggested, it could be a 'coping' mechanism: if you can't do anything about it, laugh about it.

Anyway, when you said that Tim SHOULDN'T make the work./make a joke about such things/say that dying in a gas chamber was the same as dying in your own bed surrounded by family and that both types of death have the same value - I challenged you to say that you could CHOOSE to not look/disagree, but you were not in a position to tell him what to think, or what to do... If you had let me finished, I would have gone on to say that of course, you have the 'right' to respond in whatever way you deem appropriate to anything you see/read/hear experience, but you can't tell other people what they should and should not do... The power you have is to try to persuade/change minds by reasoned debate... Unfortunately, you did not allow me to finish my argument as you were so angry!


What is interesting is that the work has the potential to provoke strong and intelligent debate. Last night, I felt (and you may disagree) - it was all a bit emotive. If you would like to meet up and have a conversation about it, I would be happy to get together.

Maybe have a coffee in uni sometime? We can always agree to disagree, but do so after good and proper intellectual debate, rather than a shouting match.

Best wishes to you,


Denise


Reply - Sunday 11th December:  Without the permission of the writer, I am unable to reprint their words.  Therefore, at this present time, I have had to delete their side of the argument.  Apologies for the gaps...



Sunday 11th December
Facebook mail from Denise to fellow audience member:


Many thanks for your mail.

Like you, I also think that natural death is right and any form of murder is absolutely wrong. Like you, I believe that genocide is totally abhorrent and I am very grateful and glad that I have not had to live through this happening in my own country. Whenever I think of the horrors that other peoples have had to face, I feel angry and upset that human nature can be so debased to bring about such occurences.

You are right - the British did invent the concentration camps in the Boer war, but thank goodness they did not develop the concept into extermination camps. I am not proud of this aspect of my history.

I am also grateful that I have not had to live under any form of occupation, nor had to experience the curtailing of any freedoms.

Whilst I know in my heart that dying would feel very different if one was experiencing it lying in one's bed, surrounded by a loving family, compared to being beaten, brutalised, starved or gassed, I do get Tim's argument that the death itself, the actual finishing point when you no longer feel anything is the same. It is the dying that is what we experience.


 I am glad that you took the time to explain things further. Unfortunately, your argument was not very clear at Le Pub.

Best wishes to you,

Denise