Issue 76 / April 2017

THE
BLUECOAT
The oldest building in Liverpool
city centre is celebrating its
300th year in 2017, having
built on its scholarly origins to
become an academy of rabid
creativity in one of the most
happening places on the planet:
A. W. Wilde speaks up in praise
of The Bluecoat.
“The Bluecoat has been
many different things to
many different people at
many different times”
Pre-jarg Moncler, post-incendiary bombs, midswinging
1960-something; two men stand with their
backs against the city looking out across the river to
somewhere else. No beginning and no end, the sky
defo nebulous, tethered to the end of their noses and just above
the Mersey. The wind – yeh, the wind we all know, with fish
and chips on its breath – it shoves in gusts and leaves without
goodbyes. That wind is on-the-rob. It steals the words of the
taller man before they reach his friend’s ears.
Rico shouts, “I can’t hear you Adrian.”
“It’s happening,” says Adrian, his beard blowing this way and
that, his hand pointing back at the city. “It’s all happening here
Rico. It’s all happening now. And it’s not fucking happening
anywhere else.”
Adrian’s words, taken by the wind, carry over the Three
Graces, echoing through the streets, awaiting argument. None
comes. Not a peep.
“But what are we going to do tonight?” bellows Rico.
“TONIGHT?”
They walk past sailmakers, across cobbles varnished with
rain and workloads and past fire-scarred buildings, as the crow
flies on the same path as stolen proclamations. Adrian looks at
Rico – not by any stretch of the imagination a handsome man, a
mismatched face of wormhole pores, inconsiderably assembled,
a face that’d look right in the back of a spoon – and Adrian says,
“there’s a Happening tonight at the Bluecoat.”
“You wha’?”
“Lots of people, lots of art: our revolution.”
“A Buddhist monk in an act of self-immolation? That Peel fella
from the radio station? A poet in potent flow? Polyrhythmic drum
patterns and hundreds of girls in short skirts?”
“Yes. All of that – and more.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” says Adrian. “I forgot to book the monk. If I’d have known
I’m living in one of the most exciting periods in history, I’d have
taken more notice.”
THE BLUECOAT is 300 years old this year. In a digital age, one
where history turns over hourly, it is an almost unwieldy amount
of time to consider. Nowadays people only count to 100 when
Likes are involved. Or hostages. Few galleries can lay claim
to such longevity and few polymaths can preside over such a
magnificent sundry as Adrian Henri. A poet, painter, musician
and much more (a great encourager, an instigator of creativity
in others and himself), this benevolent spirit intertwined his
history with that of the Bluecoat, providing Liverpool with an
embarrassment of riches and a place in which to display them.
It was – and remains – the jewelry box in the centre of town, a
building that has outlived and withstood the ravages of bombs
and the wars waged by property developers. It was there when
any man, woman or child was a walking war memorial and it’ll be
there after duplex developers have been dicked-off.
From The Singh Twins to Mark Leckey, there are plenty of
artists on show in Public View – the exhibition that runs the
length of its 300-day programme of anniversary events – who
share simpatico with the Bluecoat’s ideals, but few are as
‘Pudlian as Henri: son of a Mauritian refugee, a bard-like Nina
Simone, his poetry remains raw and imbued with visceral bite,
gifted with the flâneur’s eye that’s able to see great beauty where
others saw little. If your parents didn’t pay for your school fees,
you’ve probably studied the Mersey Sound, the anthology in
which he featured alongside lyrical accomplices Roger McGough
and Brian Pattern, which remains hugely popular and is never
ever out of print. Henri’s art was executed with a defiant wink,
his confidence buoyed by being at the centre of an artistic scene
that was the centre of the world’s creative output. The art critic
Jonathan Jones readily acknowledges Henri’s place in the avantgarde
and Liverpool’s singular way of expressing modernity.
The paintings themselves – Omo packets, unmade beds and
uncooked meat – all speak of human interaction: the everyday
exchange. “It’s happening,” said Adrian, “it’s all happening now.
And it’s not happening anywhere else.”
Survival: it’s natural to consider its nature when 300 years’
worth of birthday cards are standing upon the mantelpiece. The
Bluecoat has been many different things to many different people
at many different times. In fact, it has had to be in order to keep
opening creative doors, their own new automatic ones included.
The full breadth of events planned for the 300 days are a great
illustration of this eclecticism, one with inclusiveness at its heart.
On any given day, any one of us could take part in sociological
debates on how we live within the city and how the city lives
within us, under the stewardship of Sociologist-in-Residence Dr
Paul Jones. We can become a part of the building’s fascinating
history by taking part in My Bluecoat and contributing our own
stories of relationship to it, a Heritage Lottery Fund-supported
project. Or we can indulge in the rest of Public View, which
brings together a sample of the work of 100 artists who have
previously exhibited at the Bluecoat (Yoko Ono and Jeremy Deller
among them). There’s art for the inquisitive minds of children,
which plays and romps upon the building’s origins as a charity
school. There is dancing. There will be paint and installation.
From inside its walls, many hobbyists have left with a
kernel of an idea and thoughts of a new creative endeavour;
some have printed upon silk screens. In the garden, others
have heard immigrant songs and strummed along in their head,
appreciation of the other enriching all the time. All of the region’s
highly regarded artists have had their first significant shows
at the Bluecoat, and still they return in rude health having had
successes over the waters. This role as Great Encourager is as
valuable to the national consciousness as it is to individual spirit.
In austere times where regional galleries face precarious cliffs,
you wonder how many people share this view or appreciate
how important this is. Giving people a platform for greater
things – artists and audience alike – is not a rarefied luxury but
a fundamental societal right. Adrian Henri understood the art of
communication was an act of ubiquitous populist importance.
And his definition of ‘populist importance’ remains superior to
any other being trotted out today. Here’s to him and the next
300 years. !
Words: A. W. Wilde / awwilde.co.uk
Illustration: Lucy Roberts / lucyannerobertsillustration.com
thebluecoat.org.uk
Public View runs until 23rd April, with a variety of other
exhibitions and events running throughout the year that
celebrate The Bluecoat’s 300th anniversary.
FEATURE
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