Stone, acrylic, copper
600mm sq x1 m high

i came upon a well, filled with earth, and was pained there was no space to place my wish.
i came upon my possessions and they asked me:
are there aspects of self, clutched to, that are better placed in the hands of God? could you become more of a person by giving part of you away? would this greater self still be you? what worth is there in unused possessions?
 
take a stone. let it be a part of your character. free yourself of it.
release this stone-burden to God’s hands and find space to wish.

Selected photos

Mark's talk from the Opening Night. Artists Talk About Their Work.
Wednesday 19 March 2008, 7:00-8:30pm, in the Gallery Space.

Facilitated by Sandra Atkins.

Sandra: I guess my starting question for you was the beginning of your concept and was it the Saying first? The concept first? How did you begin?

Mark Prins: It was the concept first, which wove into the Sayings the more I thought about it. I was surprised at just how long the process has been, and how involved it is . . .  over time, coming up with the art-piece.
I have something of an historical fondness for wishing wells. My great-grandparents, whom I spent much time with when young, had the most enormous section. The front garden stretched on as far as a young eye could imagine and at the far end, the very front of the property, stood a wishing well. Being so far from the house, we didn't play down there often but we did enjoy going down there and I still have a warm sense of rightness when I think about that well. It was what a well should be - superficially at least, there was no water in it. But it did have a gabled roof made of wood, sides so high that I could only just about tip toe over to see over the edge, and a satisfyingly long drop within down to the earth below.

It was probably this I had in mind when we stumbled on a wishing well in the rose garden in Cambridge. We'd been playing with the children in the park at Christmas time and had wandered off for a walk when we saw what looked like a wishing well. Because, I think, of my great-grandparents' well, I ran with the children to climb the footing, to stretch up and peer inside. To such disappointment! This charlatan well was packed with earth, to within a centimetre of the top. There was no hole, no space, nowhere to lodge a wish  and what really bothered me was that it was so deliberate. Someone had actually taken the effort to fill the well with dirt, to make it useless.
    For some reason this aggrieved sense stayed with me when I was thinking of what to present as art for The Desert Files. The thought of it led me to want to create a well, a functioning and proper well to address the balance in some way.
    A week or so after Cambridge we were home and spring-cleaning. This year we'd surpassed our usual frantic annual cleaning ritual and had ended up moving the entire contents of almost every room in the house. It was the sort of job that, once, started, you simply had to continue with, no matter how grumpy and weary the family was. When you'd reached the point at which the entire house was waist deep in debris, there was no going back.
    As part of the process, we performed the usual urban rituals of pruning possessions. Now, I'm a natural hoarder at heart and so even after countless years of this annual event, I still had mementos, nick-nacks and general crud to spare. I find that I often hold on to things as a reminder of a person or an event which I'm worried that I'll lose if I trust it solely to my frail memory. Casting on these items an out of place totemic value.
    Evaluating the worth of each item set me thinking. I wondered if I retained a certain reminder, a physical token of memory, what would it do for me if retrieved from its hiding hole in twenty years? Could such things revive forgotten memories and bring to the surface an aspect of character which was so completely me at the icon's inception but which had sine been lost to myself.
    It led me further to think, who cares? If this was a part of me as I was then, this future self would surely have grown, moved on, and if this aspect of my character was of so little value that it had been discarded as a natural part of the evolution of my being then that's that. This aspect belonged only to the past. Did it matter that I'd lost ? Have I become more of a person as a result of this loss, or was it a vital element which has crumbled away from the decrepitude of my aging?
    And for matters of myself, as with physical items, is there a value in the giving up? In both realms there is such a continual cost of possession. Things held on to require space, maintenance and will often anchor the possessor. Also, I have a firm, if often inactive, belief in the inherent value of deliberate action. I'm drawn to this idea of giving something up - it's part of what drew me to those particular words of Christ: "Into your hands I commit my spirit." The certainty, the deliberation of the act, appeals to me.
    As for the process of creation of the art piece, this was longer and far more involving than I'd expected. It felt as if it was such a simple piece, but it's taken a great deal of time and consideration. It's a positive process though, good to have a focus around which thought and action can coalesce. Another thing I like about this particular piece, is that the materials have come together much of their own accord.
    The stone have been gathered by my whole family from a number of beaches. Each one selected individually, chosen from among many with care and a sense of appreciation. I like that each one is both beautiful and unique and has been selected slowly, over time -this for me resonates with the idea that they are then placed in the role of aspects of ourselves.
    The copper pipe came from the ground. When we excavated an area behind our house - for the shed in which I made this piece incidentally - this pipe was buried amongst various other discarded debris. There was a sense of rescue and revival about its use which I like. The pipe was bent, twisted and corroded and it's taken time to reveal the weary warmth which lay beneath.
    The well; that was a loan from a friend which also required rescuing. What I like about this is that it doesn't show the hours spent polishing; any lack of scratches, any cleanliness is assumed of such a thing. It's purpose is not to be seen, but to contain, to display. The time given to it is like that of polishing water or cleaning air. It's purity stands only as an absence to all but me.

Sandra: Did you find any of your old art pieces when you were cleaning?

Mark: No. No, it’s all rubbish, really!

[From the floor]: How’s the copper suspended?

Mark: Fishing line.

[From the floor]: Is it meant to be the crown of thorns?

Mark: Yes. That was the idea.

Sandra: That’s a very lovely . . . ‘explanation’ is not a very nice word, of your work and it’s beautiful. And I hope if you [the audience] haven’t had a chance to drop something in the wishing well before you go that you can take the time to do that.