Tag: Art Gene

A Toast to Stuart Bastik: the Seldom Seen of Morecambe Bay

I met Stuart in late 2013 when I started working with Art Gene as Project Manager and it didn’t take long to realise that I was in the presence of someone quite special: irascible, intelligent and sometimes a bit intimidating. He drove me around Barrow in Furness in an old jalopy of the Land Rover type which itself was to become a damp-free zone source of warmth, withies and above all food which nurtured us through the forthcoming years of tours of Morecambe Bay, Walney and further afield up the West Cumbrian coast.

His premature passing this summer left us wondering about so much promise, still to be explored. This poem – The Road to Barra – is dedicated to you, Stuart, as thanks for all your inspiration, challenge and yes, those slightly scary moments too.

The Road to Barra

Heysham High Hopes

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you want from a

Wind farm blade.

We’re all going on a beer hunt Stuart!

From hanging town, brief encounters,

To Holke hang out, submariner sheds,

Spot the jogging bishop with a mitre on a Sunday!

We’re talking rhubarb triangle with legs to spare,

A mammoth onion off the old green road.

They’ll split the atom here Stuart, in the years to come,

There’ll be lock downs, sirens,

Ever Ready for us, the pervasive threat.

Heysham 1, Heysham 2

It’ll be a football score Stu,

In the years to come, when we get home.

One goes down, the other goes up.

Two little boys Stu, that’s what they’re like,

Seismically protected to Gas Mark 7.

But there’s no more time for:

Haff netting salmon

in the skinny dipping Lune

Cos we’re heading out to Barra Stu,

Prepping for the Somme,

And all her sail in her.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you need from a

Wind farm blade.

Arnside’s Hunter Gatherers

It’s a long way to Tipperary,

A very long way indeed Stu,

You’ll be needing your khaki trousers,

and a hat to shield you from the blaze.

Hats with fascinators fascinating,

Travel hunters hunting and

Health and safety instructing:

Don’t forget your shorts.

Don’t forget your sun cream.

Don’t forget to write son,

We’ve got your Grand-dad round at Christmas

He’ll want to see you standing.

Arnsider, Tamesider, 

Wearsider, Humbersider,

Scouse lads! Manx lads!

We’re all in this together lads

Cockney lads! Toon lads!

Even Beverley lads

 walk on the Kents Bank waters!

Climbing over ledges,

Diving down in gorges,

Geo-physical, geo-logical,

Geo-temporal, neo-natal.

Headline shock,

Culture block.

Road up ahead,

Detour to the Humphrey Head.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you earn from a

Wind farm blade.

Furness Fears

Grange over the sands,

Wind over the waters,

Steam over the causeway,

Fog on the time and we lose our way;

Lights up ahead and we shield our eyes

From the light on the horizon.

Don’t be daft Stuart,

It’s just the moon on the river

No need to stress, no need to sweat,

It’s just another brick in a wall.

No dark lions in the wardrobe,

No more air girls on the dole.

Ulverston oh Ulverston,

You still hear your sea winds blowin’,

You still see the dark coal glowin’,

You clean your gun and dream of Ulverston.

Last wolf in England,

First turn on the left,

Water catches fire.

The air stops breathing,

But we dig deep down for leading lights.

Tractors turning, gas flame burning, submarine yearning.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you covet ‘bout a

Wind farm blade.

Barrow In Furnace

Cor strike a light! Blow me down!

If ever I cross this side of town

I’m dead, I’m gone,

A shadow of my former self.

The nuclear dump,

The ever-present hump,

Of the guy in the trench,

Standing doubled over the stench

Of the lads in the earth

And the girls in the air,

Waving, waving farewell, adieu, auf wiedersehen,

To their boys on a train sliding into town.

Pink Shap granite, Pink Shap granite

Archaeological dig in bullet rich sand.

Turbine, turbine,

Slicing up the seas in a frenzied fit of

Fission, fusion,

Grasping the cushion of a nuclear safety net of

Caste iron furnace, caste iron furnace,

Grenades to launch ten thousand ships to pieces.

It’s just a rumour that was spread around town

By the women and children

Soon we’ll be shipbuilding

We’re all in this together Stu,

It was like this way back when

Digging our trenches into the heat of the night.

Guided by your lights across the barren lands.

Your trig towers point to trig points in the ground.

Your landing lights in the estuary guide us by.

Your staging posts act as halfway stops mid river.

Your tools of empire help us navigate this wilderness.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade, 

Everything you ever loved ‘bout a

Wind farm blade.

I’d say RIP Stuart but I can’t see you resting anywhere easily; there’s far too much wrong in heaven that needs fixing!

No no no no no no no oh yes it does: Barrow goes to Penrith!

This summer, 20 prize winning phrases written by the people of Barrow-in-Furness will go on display alongside Cumbrian artists in an exhibition at Rheged Gallery, Penrith. The exhibition champions Cumbrian creativity during the COVID-19 pandemic details of which you can see here.

It all started with Art Gene’s 8 Words for Barrow-in-Furness competition during the first national lockdown in 2020.

Inspired by 8 empty sky blue billboards in the town, Art Gene invited people from Barrow and Furness to enter their own suggestions for phrases to fill the space. From over 180 entries, 20 competition winners were selected by Artist/Directors Stuart Bastik and Maddi Nicholson, and were presented in a socially distanced, outdoor artwork created by Maddi outside Art Gene HQ on Abbey Road in Barrow last year.

Nick Owen was one of the proud competition winners with his entry:

No no no no no no no yes

which itself was inspired by an earlier poem he wrote entitled Resistance is Futile, itself inspired by the Borg of even earlier manifestations of Star Trek.  The Borg would take immense amount of pleasure telling their hapless victims that ‘resistance was futile’ and that they just better buckle down and be happy with their lot. Even if it did mean colonisation, subjugation and eventual death.

It seemed right for this competition as he would often hear, when he was in Barrow, lots of reasons why things couldn’t happen – whether this be in a street, in a business, in a school: in all sorts of places from all sorts of people.  Hearing ‘no’ so often suggested that resistance to any kind of positive social change was pointless: and it seemed that in some quarters, the Borg were alive and kicking in Barrow.

People who tended to say ‘yes’ though were more likely to be the artists and educators who worked or lived here.  in the time he lived and worked in Barrow, he was increasingly be inspired by those who said ‘yes’ to the challenges, opportunities and sheer wonder of the town, its history and relationship with the natural (and industrial) worlds.  In short, he was reminded that resistance to the ‘no’ wasn’t futile, that difficulties could be overcome and that apathy was a choice, not a biological or economic given.

So for him, the poem summarises the aspiration of when faced with so many ‘no-es’, so many reasons not to do things, we need to find the ‘yes’ in a situation.  If we can find the ‘yes’, we can transform ourselves, our families, our communities and the world at large.

You can read ‘Resistance is Futile’ in our poetry anthology, There’s no such Things as an Englishman’ here. NIck’s other contributions to the competition are below

There’s No Such Thing as an Englishman

There’s No Such Thing as an Englishman

There’s No Such Thing as an Englishman is an anthology of poetry from an irritated England and marks the many sources of irritation faced by the average Englishman or woman these days – everything from the railways to referenda via what ever it is the young call music these days.

It was launched on 31 January 2020 – the day when the UK left the European Union and when the phenomenon known as Brexit finally, we liked to think, finally evaporated and all those years of frustration, anger, sheer disbelief and irritation all come to rest. But as Chairman Mao once said about what he thought the effects of the French Revolution were, it was way too soon to tell.

But its two authors – Nick Owen and Janice Owen – have become accomplished at becoming irritated at many facets of life in England over the years and hope that you, dear reader, will find some solace in knowing that you are not alone when it comes to feeling frustrated, pissed off, angry or just good old fashioned irritated.

Being English though, means we’ve just reached a level of irritation and aren’t quite ready to riot. Yet.

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