Humanity and Inhumanity

A literary and political hero, George Orwell, died this day in 1950 at only 46 years old. He was beginning to be recognised as a brilliant satirist with longitudinal aptitude after Animal Farm but nothing prepared the world for the incisive parody of 1984, my favourite novel of all time. Orwell forced society to stare into the mirror and he still does.

I have been reflecting on other artworks which have moved me most, and have recognised a pattern of sorts- most books, paintings, poems, films and music I love address the subject of humanity and compassion through their depiction of inhumanity and cruelty. Like a newsworthy story full of aggression and dispassion, these artworks force me to ask questions about warmth and kindness by its' notable absence. 1984 is so infused with a manipulative sense of control and coldness that the rare and merciful acts of human connection within it feel like a feast after a famine. It is easy to create art that simply depicts an external reality, a copy of a violent act, but good art will encourage me to question that violence and question my position within its circle of influence. 

This is why American Psycho is a truly magnificent novel because it not only satirises many aspects of that time period and his social position but it forces me to question my connections to it- is the protagonists' manipulative behaviour always wrong? What will I do to climb the social and professional ladder like the main character Patrick Bateman? How accurate is the story he relates and, if he is not being totally honest, does it matter? In clinical terms he is the perfect psychopath but also has obsessive traits which cast shadows of grey over the authors' initial black and white depiction of blame/ blameless actions. How real is Bateman's graphic violence and pornography? How important is fantasy to the material substance of a good story?

By helping me understand what is not, art helps me understand what is. What I am not without, I am within. This is why, every year until Ruby died, I read 1984 and If This is a Man- they connect me to an essence of humanness that no other art can. 

Over the last few days, thinking about Orwell and art, abstract or otherwise, a short list has evolved of artworks that have strongly helped create the person I am today through its depictions and analysis of violence, degradation and friction. Had I not experienced everything on this list I would have evolved a different personality (I hope it should go without saying that there are also many beautiful, elegant and gentle things that have made me who I am- Barbara Hepworth's "Three Forms, 1935" was the very first thing that sprung to mind here). 

I will never experience some of this again- I cannot be distant enough to read American Psycho again (I tried a few years ago but felt so nauseous I had to stop after the first murder), Mein Kampf is intensely tedious although rich with the "banality of evil" and Shoah is ten hours long- but I could cope daily with the apparent direct connection between my ears and tear ducts when I hear Gorecki. And just thinking about Guernica tightens my throat slightly. 

In no order:

The samurai films of Akira Kurosawa

Benjamin Zephaniah's poem "The Death of Joy Gardner"

Pablo Neruda's poem "I'm Explaining a Few Things"

Picasso's painting "Guernica"

Gorecki's  Symphony No.3 (The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs)

Primo Levi's autobiography "If This is a Man"

The Chapman brothers' sculpture "Hell"

The documentary "Shoah"

Hitlers' autobiography "Mein Kampf"

Yevgeny Zamyatin's novel "We"

Bret Easton Ellis' novel "American Psycho"

Heavy metal and gangster hip-hop

Wilfred Owe's poem "Dulce et Decorum est"