Ways Of Seeing (CHU BabMag Article)

Finally got round to picking up the new issue of Babmag for which I wrote an article on midlands 3D graffiti specialist CHU.

Here's the full piece.

Ways Of Seeing
The Work of Chu
by Murdok

“the relation between what we see and what we know is never settled. Each evening we see the sun set. We know that the earth is turning away from it. Yet the knowledge, the explanation, never quite fits the sight” - John Berger

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” - William Blake

“Teenager leaves spectacles on floor of San Francisco’s Museum of Modern Art as a prank, leading some to think they were an exhibit” - The Guardian, 2016.

Pareidolia, the name given to the way the brain will interpret and find patterns in shapes where there are none presents us with an interesting view into our imagination when looked at through the lens of art & creativity. If these simple instances of mental trickery made in moments of fright or fancy can construct worlds that simply are not there then what does it mean for our wider engagement with reality? What have we built that does not exist? Or more excitingly...what perhaps, are we missing?

Born in 1971 in Blakenall, Walsall Chu is an artist of multidisciplinary interest whose practice incorporates graffiti, world record breaking mural attempts, print, installation, video game design and a large role in the digital 3D rendering world. As he puts it though, there is a common theme of giving the viewer “more validity…..a super-human power” running throughout his work, whatever medium it is executed in there is a paramount interest in breaking down barriers through the introduction of the spectator to, and immersion of them in any number of different alternate realities.

Having just passed into his 34^th year as a graffiti artist and with 20 of those spent organising events his client base mirrors this lifetime of dedication with such companies as Coca-Cola, Virgin Trains (alongside Jamie Hewlett), Glastonbury Festival (numerous times), Nintendo, Digital Arts Magazine and even Banksy (who hired him as a print and event consultant) all seeking out his talents over the years.

To encounter Chu’s cross platform work is to have a glimpse into worlds beyond our own, beyond the realm of pure 2D representation and dipped into fantasy. As a self-confessed video game addict and having enjoyed employment with Walsalls leading games developers early in his career Chu is well versed in the creation of separate spaces that both mentally and physically engage users in their experience. For his ‘Cubic Experiment’ project Chu constructed an enclosed, decorated cube that upon entering would create an all around artistic experience when viewed from a single point in its centre. Disorientating, even for himself (Chu found it hard to distinguish between wall, floor and ceiling during the process) the piece sought to merge his fascination with the material capabilities of illustration and the immersion of virtual spaces.

Bringing the possibilities of the virtual realm to the street has meant that Chu has explored and experimented (sometimes on a huge scale) with ideas of 3D graffiti for a long time, whereas traditional Wildstyle graffiti feigns affiliation with projection from a surface its primary focus remains the distortion of letters, not of space, which ultimately means any environment created is understood as being linked to that surface and unfortunately retracts any promise of proper absorption into it. Chu understands something deeper though, that when a graffiti artist builds their name and style they are building a world – this being what we value outside of technical precision, the ideas graffiti artists (and wider artists as well obviously) communicate through their work. The best artists are the ones that make us see in the world a different, undiscovered place and in the case of Chu, whose work seeks to go beyond simple aesthetic fascination and into that pure meditative, hypnotic state that comes with a complete loss of self in contemplation, we find just that.

But whereas the virtual realm is limited to just that, virtual reality, Chu’s work in its use of the confrontational methods of graffiti and mural art forces us to examine and explore these ideas through sheer accidental exposure alone. These ‘Anamorphic Projections’ whilst meaningless from one view are reconstituted through the use of a specific standpoint or device and are a sublimely powerful act when mixed with the forceful space taking that graffiti employs. The everyday pedestrian can find themselves transported into a different world by simply being in the right place at the right time, they are a launch pad to alternate ways of seeing and just like Pareidolia work their magic suddenly – their absorption impossible to ignore.

Whilst the most illustrative and characterful depiction of these merged interests is most exactly given in the record-breaking mural attempt at ‘Hole In The Wall’ in Walsall town centre in which Chu single handedly painted a 40x95ft anamorphic projection mural over 42 days, the most precise and stunning experiment with these ideas is his black and white geometric work. Whereas the variation of subject matter (characters, letters, background) in traditional graffiti offer a chance to break up a surface – the consistency of line and colour in these monochromatic works do not give us that chance. Employing these devices of optical illusion for projects such as See No Evil and Room K in Bristol as well as the simply astounding “largest ever freehand 3D graffiti illusion” for City Of Colours mean the possibilities of graffiti and street art have been taken to a new level, especially when they’re painted without projectors, ladders or measuring devices – as Chu is prone to doing.

In Chu we have a master of alternative realities, a connoisseur of the understanding that art can be more than simple posturing. Together with the subtle political humour that creeps through the titles and ideas of much of his work we are shown an artist adept at getting to the crux of our experience and forcing us to confront how we perceive, engage and construct it. He is an artist that takes us to the edge of our reality, and demands we jump.  

In The Fields The Bodies Burning.

The flickering flames drowned over the screaming of some names as I confronted the kid who was building that huge fucking pyre in the graveyard in stoke
I smelt a grim stench recognisable as death
we sat down against the stone, shared a can or two of worms, spilt some cider on our clothes whilst we watched the orange glow slowly engulf their bones
he said he’d heard about those political scandals, read the papers knew his angles decided side with all the vandals against the digging at the heart by those above
in one hand his knuckles white as tight he gripped some gasoline,
but put it down when he had to drag more bodies to the heap,
mps, celebrities – he didn’t differentiate between
all was equal in that primal light
all was equal beneath soil and starry sky
at home in silence decided to solve matters without debate
scythe and weigh all the evils that these money men create
the panama papers, mps expenses, david Cameron fucking a pig
now he tied a lot of knots, ignored a lot of groans, over the cackling of a fire focused instead on his seething, gritted teeth tight form of hope.
determined to make a charcoaled and heaving mass, towering crumbling carbon ash and black –
rolled someones history, someones personality in his fingertips then…*blow*… blew it back
a crooked type of augustus
building an empire from several degrees
a blistering type of justice

the cloven hooves are back again
I hear them clicking on the rooves of all my kin
don’t let them in
don’t let them in

he barely moved or muttered further after that,
kept eyes fixated on that glowing burnt inferno
stoked and poked at any murmurs til they ceased.
that danse mcabre dug no hole in which to shovel that fall of rome, just slowly paced around his creation, cremated
come tomorrows dewy dawn
would set out, pile more flesh in mounds

our progress a slow descent, an ape bipedal made
still flings his shit around afraid
against that end of light afraid
we lurch and shriek in shame

some was me, most was them – lost a youth now a melancholy of older man. Leonard Cohen died and is Trump is president.
All was me, all was you, all was them

the cloven hooves are back again
I hear them clicking on the rooves of all my kin
don’t let them in
don’t let them in

Away

You were the most glorious of fucks

The most sublime of cunts

I was everywhere with you

A giant oozing wound

I clocked them from time
thought it best to keep walking
keep talking
because that’s a couple o’youths right there searching for their prime
at 3:45 on a saturday night
unsure of to how release it
except on random people in parks at night

couple hoods covered
couple tall ones

id clocked them from time
guess they had too
7 stalking meaning in the lamplight of a covered moon

but ive no doubt they wouldve done it
sacrificial cuttings and sudden plummet
the harvest sow of progression yields a lone summit 

NBD

I shuddered
how many mothers had I met 
how much baited breath had they kept 

Summer time and the living was simple 
back when those doors opened 
not anymore though, not since the industry left 
Maybe thats what caught my eye, a fleeting horizon escaping the sight 
A desperate daughter of communal hype 
In anxious sad searching for prisons of pride 

Freedom, cut me loose
Freedom, freedom, where are you? 

I still don’t understand the plight 

Long Grass

I touched my fingers together and sat back against the wooden divider
it seperated me from the vehicles howling home

They were sticky with paint, the brown had dripped all over them
From a window I was a madman dancing around
I was a pervert united in song
I was a chatterbox roaming the grounds

Plants I used to break when I was a kid
Weeds I used to snap, nestled deeply in my palms
it was a far corner of the sports field
Or our farm

Nike Airmax

The howling home

Half A Decade (and others)

Mother, probably fucked, now deceased. 

Half a decade dead, that's a bizarre thing to say.
I thought it apt to write something as the past two years have been the sanest i've been in a long, long time - I mean it's all perpetual progression right 'til the grave but the feeling of trudging through the hours which occupied years and years and years worth of my life post-them and that has somewhat ceased.

Here are some notes on the process:

1. February 15th 2012 - 2014 People are right when they say a part of you simply vanishes, a feeling of terrifying openness to the world and its experience. Everything is scary, everything is pronounced, every moment feels important - the spotlight is on you and you've forgotten your words. I became the most extreme of personalities, primarily manifesting itself in militant veganism (kind of) & neurotic addiction to creativity (the latter still lingers)
But there was a liberation there, my mother was a maniac, addiction is a Jekyll / Hyde monster - there's only so many times you can hold someones hand and listen to them say they want to die and know exactly how to do it before you give in and agree to help them if ever it came to it. I collapsed when I heard, but walking to the train station I felt a sublime sense of relief. Thank fuck it's finally over. I could start again. 22 fucking years. She wet herself in public so much we could barely go into any cafes in Driffield, she crashed cars with me in them, we nearly got taken into care, she passed out on seafronts when I was a child meaning I as a child had to phone an ambulance when all I wanted to do that day was buy a fucking Tamagotchi, she missed important dates in our lives, she fell down stairs and I stepped over her body, she broke her nose on the radiator, she went to the most expensive rehab clinics in the world and came out equally as drunk as she'd gone in. She missed her mother, she missed her father, she didn't know how to connect with her kids. She drank a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and died curled up on the floor in the downstairs bathroom. She essentially killed herself. She was born into money, prestige, land, history, the highest social class available and fucked it all. Camus would be fucking proud at her level of metaphysical rebellion. Thank fuck it's over.

Overarching feeling during this time: Look at how fucking beautiful the world is. I am unhindered and alive, it is horrible and overwhelming.


2. Janet / Danny / Carl they all went too within 1.5 years. In 2013 ruined a relationship for the 'promise' of another, only to be betrayed by it. It was then I spiraled out of control.  This was when the reset button was hit, I did nothing aside from lie in bed and keep myself alive - no art, no reading, no music, no enjoyment in anything whatsoever. I remember looking up at the ceiling and there was a serene optimism, because I knew that this was it - I simply could not feel any worse, there was nothing left to take. My mum and aunt had died, my friends had died, I had ruined a relationship so incredible only for its reason to vanish. Thus began the process of rebuilding myself, I went through my mind and reintroduced myself to things I loved, music / art / exercise. I felt stripped of excess interests, these were the things that mattered.

Overarching feeling during this time: That I had reached the very core of being, that there was no lower point. That it was quite nice, a wry smile. I could only go upwards.


3. 2014 - Dec 2015 Understanding. Whilst you get over the immediate grief, it took me years to fully understand the subtle behavioural ticks that growing up with a non-functioning neurotic alcoholic for a mother and-every-fucker-else-being-either-absent-dead-or-schizophrenic leaves you with. These years were spent making a shit ton of mistakes, being overwhelmingly emotional, coping with a more ingrained, overarching & trickier grief and trying to piece together a personality to find a source of strength I could rely on. If you think you're fine, it's most likely you are not. Having to address a constant anxiety and perilously low self-esteem.

Overarching feeling during this time: Right, well.... I've fucked that haven't I.


4. Dec 2015 - Dec 2016. Responsibility and growth (two parts). This has to fucking stop now. Realising I simply could not exist like that took me to counselling and Samaritans. Councilling taught me to talk and actually explore all this shit, which was a unrivaled success - the load was automatically lighter, for the first time in years I actually felt free of burdens, Samaritans was really useful - venting to strangers who didn't have to know your name and being able to inhabit a space where I could just talk unhindered went further to unpacking mindsets, especially when the lady said "what you are searching for, you will never find". Feeling ready to make a change meant that even when my insecurities reared their head I understood it was all a part of me and 'this too shall pass'. I accepted that I'd been damaged and learnt to forgive myself, finding it humurous how ridiculously some of my behaviour was. Who I am now that I have no excuse for my behavior anymore? Who am I when they'e all dead or dormant?

Overarching feeling during this time: This is it, it's time to make a change, fucking Rocky Balboa training montage.


5. Dec 2016 onwards. Power and anxiety (Fear & Tremendousness).
This takes us to where we are now. February 15th 2017, the 5th anniversary of my mothers death and its consequent beginning of a series of events which would royally fuck me over and absolutely change my existence on this planet. I am still learning about myself, I still suffer from cycles of neurotic anxiety but within the past month I have started a notebook, in which I mark things about myself I have noticed - I am being of cycles, I get obsessed with things in the most intense and overwhelming way. They pass and I freak out because I feel i'm not doing enough with my life. There is a brief period of about a week or so where I feel awful, depressed and worried i'm not succeeding then I say 'well, what would you like to do now' and the whole process starts again. But last night I wrote that this period of down time is useful, I am a compulsive neurotic creative who creates to escape because I was always told I would be something powerful one day. These cycles of obsession last around 2 / 3 weeks? (I have yet to pin it down) and then fade, My new focus is on learning to relax in between these periods and make the most of them when come.
I have a new job as an art teacher for troubled kids, I have helped build movements, I have interviewed my favourite artists in the world, websites have stolen my questioning style (I'M LOOKING AT YOU SPRAY DAILY), I'm a published journalist, my poetry was nominated for television adverts.

Overarching feeling during this time:I miss them all every single day, one more than I am allowed to say but beneath my bizarre and constant anxious mindset I feel more in control than ever. The past 2 years have meant growth, the previous meant understanding and just staying alive, the preceding 22 were theirs. This year I have been more comfortable and confident in myself than I have felt in well...more than half a decade and quite possibly a life time.
Mum (or AB as you were known) you were a maniac, a troubled and ridiculous maniac, but from dealing drugs to 80's pop stars and smuggling drugs across international borders and taking far too much cocaine you lived your life (or atleast your youth) with a individuality I have come to find inspiring.

"I love the sea, it always knows what to say" - A.B

R.I.P Annabel Macdonald-Evans / Sykes
R.I.P Janet Macdonald / Trapp
R.I.P Daniel Penny
R.I.P Carl (for I cannot remember your last name)
R.I.P Deborah Macdonald / Fleury
And for the sake of honesty, Samantha Littler - for she was an equally important part in this whole saga and someone I owe an apology to. If you ever read this, it's been beyond hard.

See you in 5 years.