Labels that once proudly projected forward, “MADE IN WALES,” came to be replaced by ‘Made in China’.Ī challenging final paragraph highlights the tendency to take from materials and people left over and left behind, where costs are low and profits are high. When the business began to balloon and international capital sunk its claws in, materials and manufacture changed with it. Then, precarious finances forced a relocation to South Wales – Carno, specifically – where they came to occupy “first an abandoned social club and then a disused railway station.” In spare moments, they used available resources to print and quilt from their Pimlico flat, Central London. Laura Ashley stayed at home, cooked and cleaned, whilst her husband worked in business. But, when I regain concentration, I realise there is more to its history and a point to this text. I begin to think of the brand’s soft furnishings enclaved among Homebase hardware. Industrial Finance Design charts the history of illustrious textile design company, Laura Ashley. London-based artist, Ghislaine Leung, has written a text to accompany Leaman’s work, the A-4 sheets printed and piled in one corner of the gallery. I trace curves and hit square angles, register colour and grain along the way. The works of furniture are called forward for particular inspection. Here, however, in a space of fine art, the modus operandi is to stand and look. But we don’t pay special attention to the appearance of fixtures and fittings as stand-alone objects in their own right. There is familiarity when they hold photographs of loved ones. There is an aesthetic of tidiness as we tuck away tools or books. Unnoticed forms as we go about our daily domestic business. Ordinarily, shelving is something we use more than we contemplate. I trace curves and hit square angles, register colour and grain along the way.” “The works of furniture are called forward for particular inspection. A site of effortless equilibrium, where surfaces are clean, joints flush, and edges smooth. Nevertheless, it is a pilgrimage for spirit levels. All proportions were cut quickly, I am told. The timber is of do-it-yourself decorum – deliberately left raw. Each piece is born of the same maker and made of the same material: cheap furniture board. There are six shelving units, fixed to the walls of two tight rooms and a corridor. My usher escorts me to the gallery door, and I am left alone to be surrounded by perpendicular pine. There is a certain poetry to an almost black brick Victorian institution twisted right round to encourage things forward and make contemporary art even more contemporary. It opened in 2014 and continues to commission new shows in Nottingham. The gallery itself is folded and tucked into a pocket of Primary, a repurposed primary school. The buzzer is discreet about the fact I hurtled here, and the gallery’s director, Tom Godfrey, ushers me inside. I scream down Ilkeston Road to arrive on time and cannon my finger through the intercom system. If only the public a) knew about this place, and b) had an appointment. They must stimulate a unique experience for the public to reflect upon. They are put to a more burdensome task as works of contemporary art. In Lawrence Leaman’s latest exhibition at TG Gallery, pine shelves are relieved of their trinkets and family photos.
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