Opening Ceremony Speech (Abigail O’Brien’s Airfix Days Exhibition, Peppercanister Gallery, October 2102)
by Noel Kelly, Chief Executive of Artists Association, Ireland.
It gives me an enormous amount of pleasure to be here this evening to say a few words at this opening. Normally I speak about the fear that arises when asked to speak like this, but I have been told that it comes across as self indulgent nonsense... so instead, I shall save my real self indulgence for a bit later.
Abigail stands out from her contemporaries as a unique voice in contemporary art. She has won many prestigious awards and the national and international recognition for her work is evidenced by its presence in both private and public collections, including:
The Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin;
The European Central Bank, Frankfurt;
Goldman Sachs, London;
The Caldic Collection, Rotterdam;
and the Volpinum Collection, Vienna.
She has shown extensively internationally including:
Haus Der Kunst, Munich;
The Gemeentemuseum, Holland;
and Centro National des Artes, Mexico.
And in recognition of her excellence she was elected a member of the Royal Hibernian Academy in 2010.
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This is truly an impressive list and one that most artists would be envious of, but for those of you that know Abigail, she takes it in her stride, and rarely mentions the international recognition that she receives.
Therefore, Abigail... let’s just say it... You have gathered this audience here this evening because We also believe that you’re good!
And so, here this evening, and to cut through so many pages of notes that I had put together to find out what I really wanted to say... Perhaps a quote from Leonardo da Vinci
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
And it is sophistication that lies within the true simplicity that permeates all of Abigail’s work.
In particular to this exhibition, let us all admit that deep within us we long for some of the simplicity that we appear to leave behind as childhood becomes a lost memory and the manmade complexity of contemporary living takes over. It is in that past simplicity that our attitudes were moulded, our beliefs were guided, and our courage formed... It was then that we were imbued with a willingness to dream of what the future might be...
But, it is a fact that such dreams come under attack from a society that can be full of negative influences. When thinking about what to say I became almost biblical when thinking of war, famine and economic pestilence... But then I came back to a time in my own memory when such things were off in some far abstract distance and I was surrounded by the love and care of a father figure who made everything appear easy and doable.
This is what I see surrounding me this evening... those memories of building forts, digging trenches when playing war games in the garden... much to the vexation of my grandfather who kept what could only be described as one of the last perfect Edwardian walled gardens long since bull dozed by a speculator’s need for yet another apartment block...
In my eyes, that garden was the perfect location for Lord Peter Flint (Codename: Warlord) to go and undertake expeditions that never seemed to end, and never appeared to have a final result except for that much hated call to come in for dinner... Mothers don’t really understand that such minor details interfere and can be the cause of the downfall of empires that exist under the trees in the orchard... I also found out that teachers don’t understand and worried about me as a squadron leader /mechanic /aviation designer when, in first class in primary school, my mother was guided to the waste bin in which lay the ruins of my abundant and increasingly complex paper airplane creations.
The warmth of this memory surrounds me here... the planes that were painstakingly constructed, painted, adored, and built for that imaginary war that was about to take place somewhere between the attic and apple stores. The cats never stood a chance against the variety of wildlife saved from the pond and fernery that joined me, in the role of Lord Peter Flint, on my quests.
It is interesting to look back through the eyes of this exhibition and wonder about this nostalgia. The scars of battle from this perfect time so clearly visible, each a memory, and wonder did my planes make Killer Kane, and Union Jack Jackson proud when I strafed Adolf Gruber, the stereotypical evil Gestapo agent, and if I ever managed to win any of these battles.
All selfish thoughts now as I look back to the hidden world of this exhibition and remember the hours spent with my father making up kit models that I assumed were a right, a necessity for living, and key to the survival of humanity. Sometimes I found that a half made kit of the night before miraculously became a gleaming model sitting at my bedroom door the next morning ready for action in my war that would save the world for another day.
At times I felt that my father bought the models for himself and my grandfather’s brother Cecil and that they used them to link themselves to their own childhoods as they modelled away late at night... preparing for the next morning when their boy commando/spy/warrior would fly off on another set of hair raising adventures that always seemed to put the glass house and rose garden in danger, and when attacks on the flower beds became the cause of more than one admonishment from mother of Wait until your father comes home...
But, underneath all of these stories lie formation, the strong guiding hand, the father, the creator, the care giver, and example of perfect love – the man who taught me duty, honour, and fortitude – with a wry smile to the balance that those unwelcome calls for food, school, washing, and homework brought to those years.
Now, I bring myself back and realise that what is on the walls is somebody else’s childhood, somebody else who fought battles and did deeds of daring do... and realise that boyhood is something shared...
Suddenly I don’t feel alone in this complicated world; scared of war, famine and pestilence... instead I know that there are people out there who, like me, will always believe that we are Lord Peter Flint (Codename Warlord).