Le 14 septembre 1976 les prisonniers de l’IRA incarcérés à la prison de Maze lancent la "blanket protest" (la grève des couvertures), refusant de porter l’uniforme des détenus de droit commun pour revendiquer un statut de prisonnier politique et protester contre les mauvais traitements qui leur étaient infligés. En avril 1978 la grève des couvertures évolue en grève de l’hygiène (no wash protest) : les détenus refusent de quitter leurs cellules, de se laver, badigeonnent les murs de leurs excréments. Les représailles de leurs geôliers sont féroces. Après une première grève de la faim qui a échoué (le gouvernement britannique revenant sur les concessions accordées pour la faire cesser), les prisonniers lancent le 1er mars une grève de la fin totale, initiée par le leader Bobby Sands. Elle cessera le 3 octobre de la même année, le gouvernement anglais acceptant la majeure partie des revendications, après la mort de dix militants dont Sands.
Steve Mac Queen est une "star " de l'art contemporain ...
Un encore qui s'est mis à faire un film , un "vrai"
Je vais chercher des liens sur carrière d'artiste , avant ce film
Ah je l'adore celui -là , il a l'air super ringard mais ..... no
ps :
est-ce qu' on parle bien de la même ballade ?
bon justement , NON ! LOL
à minuit je reçois ce mail :
Quote :
non, non, Alain, c'est la ballade nord-iralndaise de Renaud !!!!
arggg LOL , c'est justement ce que connaissais ma femme !
eh bien , bon , je retombe sur mes pattes ,
car là on est bien dans la douleur irlandaise :
alain fondateur
Number of posts : 23529 Localisation : Dompierre sur Veyle ,France Registration date : 2005-04-19
Subject: Re: Hunger Sat 6 Dec - 23:56
j'avais oublié un truc dans l'histoire de Bobby , c'est ce qui est dit à la fin , ici
alain fondateur
Number of posts : 23529 Localisation : Dompierre sur Veyle ,France Registration date : 2005-04-19
Subject: Re: Hunger Sun 21 Dec - 15:47
Quote :
Jesus in jailHe may have put the 'pop' into art - but it is Richard Hamilton's political works that reveal his true daring, says Jonathan Jones
Jonathan Jones The Guardian, Wednesday 20 August 2008 Article history When Richard Hamilton painted The Citizen, his portrait of the IRA hunger-striker Bobby Sands in the Maze prison, what it depicted was bloody news. Sands stopped eating on March 1 1981 and died 66 days later. Hamilton painted The Citizen in 1982-3, when the hunger strike was savagely controversial. Nothing did more to confirm the courage of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in the eyes of her supporters - or make her seem more inhuman to her critics - than her iron response to Sands' death.
Hamilton painted Sands robed in black, glaring out of a room whose steel mesh window is virtually the only thing not covered by a swirl of shit. His long dark hair and beard, his black unfocused eyes, make his skin seem to glow from inside. A bare foot reaches forward as if striding, adding to the calculated heroism of his pose. There is no avoiding the implications of the hair and the beard, combined with the man's youth and apparent suffering: Hamilton is comparing his subject with Jesus Christ.
Today, The Citizen hangs in a quiet white room at Inverleith House in Edinburgh. Outside, the Royal Botanic Garden buzzes with nothing more than the occasional bee. The contemplative mood might seem at odds with Hamilton's disturbing theme; in fact, it mirrors the painting's cool. The Citizen is a diptych, comprising two narrow canvases held together in a metal frame. The romantic figure of Sands in the right hand panel inhabits a cell-like interior; in the other panel, real space dissolves. Finger marks and manic arabesques fill the void with excremental markings that resemble the work of an alienated cave man, or the last pathetic effort of a drunken Jackson Pollock: they look like art. But what kind of artist does this make Sands - a raw primitive, or a clever manipulator of images? In his portrait, he stands so self-consciously: the evocation of Christ is already there - it's not just an emotional response by Hamilton. On the contrary, Hamilton stresses the false notes in the pose, invites a cold analysis of the politics of martyrdom. After completing The Citizen in 1983, Hamilton painted another diptych on the same grand scale, The Subject. It shows an Orangeman marching, sword in hand; in the other panel, car headlights create a blinding emptiness. In Hamilton's 1993 work The State, a British soldier patrols a depopulated city street, juxtaposed with an empty countryside. These three pictures are shown side by side in Edinburgh, constituting an allegory of the Troubles.
A retrospective of Hamilton's art that concentrates entirely on his responses to political events might seem a glancing way to look back, in his 86th year, on the career of the man who put the word "Pop" into art, displaying it on a lolly held by a bodybuilder in his 1956 collage, Just What Is It That Makes Today's Homes So Different, So Appealing? In fact, it turns out to be a terrific way of looking again at Hamilton's passion and intelligence.
Hamilton's 1964 Portrait of Hugh Gaitskell as a Famous Monster of Filmland places a fleshy, dead-eyed mask over a collaged newspaper photograph of the Labour leader. Yet my response to it is limited by the fact that I have no idea what Gaitskell looked like. I don't think this is just because he is long gone: it's because he lived in an age when politicians were as much speakers and writers as faces. Nearby hangs Hamilton's newest protest picture, a portrait of Tony Blair as a cowboy - the weakest thing here, partly because Blair's face is so reproduced, that one more monstering doesn't have much purchase.
Hamilton painted Swingeing London 67 as a protest against a police raid on the Rolling Stones. When constables entered the former Sussex home of surrealist art collector Edward James, where the Stones were partying, they found, unsurprisingly, evidence of drug possession. Yet what mattered to Hamilton, what made it personal, was the arrest, together with Mick Jagger, of the art dealer Robert Fraser, his own gallerist: it is Fraser who sits behind Jagger in this painting, in dark glasses, holding up handcuffs. And you glimpse a new world being born in flashbulb explosions. Instead of the drab 1950s reality of a Hugh Gaitskell, here is a more potent mix of stars, arrests, violence; the visual swims to the surface of modern life.
Sands and Jagger make for very different martyrs. But martyrdom is always the same thing: the victory of the apparently weak over the supposedly strong. The triumph of Sands, in Hamilton's three paintings of the Troubles, is that beside the Orangeman and the squaddie he looks so much more the hero. He's not so different from a rock star. As they said in Hamilton's decade: all power to the imagination.
Richard Hamilton: Protest Pictures is at Inverleith House, Edinburgh (0131-248 2971), until October 12.
Richard Hamilton (1924 - 2005) painted "the Citizen" between 1981 and 1983