DAVID FANSHAWE – AN ENRICHING LIFE OF LOVE AND MUSIC

David Arthur Fanshawe - born 19 April 1942; died 5 July 2010: sadly it was 12 September 2018 before this became evident. Why has the world has been so careless with David Fanshawe and his legacy? Reports cannot even get his name spelled correctly every time; yet this man was a great promoter, not only of music, but also of the human spirit, of love. He signed his name with florid flashes, scribbled scrolls and delicate dots, adding “I love the world.” He could not declare this enough. The gesture inspired more dots on my signature as a homage to this marvellous, free spirit that is recalled every time the hand makes its personal mark.

David Fanshawe

It was very many years ago in the 1970s that the vinyl record was discovered in the local music shop and purchased. It was not only the cover that was attractive: Africian Sanctus touched a nerve, suggesting a universal quality to spirituality and life; hinting that each religion was the same; that life held a basic, raw, searching spirit seeking recognition, delight in expression. Only Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s Swansong has moved me so much# with its music and mystic CD cover text: . . . it was You, only You. It was not just this idea about emotions and feelings that was of interest, but the music was inspirational too. Sanctus was a stunning, a surprisingly brilliant interplay of the old and the new, of ancient and modern cultures, at a time before anyone had even heard or thought of Postmodernism. Fanshawe’s work was ground-breaking. Everyone who has ever attempted to do it knows how difficult it is to re-interpret something that is familiar to us, but Fanshawe gave us a wonderfully beautiful, new Lord’s prayer in his landmark African Sanctus. This remains his signature work that has been performed over a thousand times across the world.

I heard it in Brisbane when the local choirs presented the complete score at the Cultural Centre many years ago. It was on this evening that one realised how little was known of this man. Vincent Plush introduced the evening, saying, without embarrassment, that he knew not very much about him, giving Fanshawe a gloss of irrelevance. One does not know if he was trying to be funny, but he told a story of how his students were told to do some research on Fanshawe, posssibly for African Sanctus. His story was that one student telephoned Fanshawe’s wife in the UK and found out he was working on his Pacific Odyssey. Plush seemed to think this somewhat ‘lower class,’ perhaps carelessly ad hoc, maybe lacking in 'star' prestige, and added that Mrs. Fanshawe had said that David plans to present this Pacific work in the Sydney Opera House, mockingly asking if the Opera House knew about this. It was a shameful show of public disrespect for Fanshawe. Plush should have known better; but alas he did not. One wonders why he was asked to introduce the evening; or why he accepted. Was it all about self-importance?

If Plush had been interested, he could have heard Fanshawe speak in Brisbane at the Queensland University of Technology about twelve months prior to this evening, just before he packed everything up and travelled back to the UK. His talk was an enlightening experience. Fanshawe had spent years travelling the Pacific recording and filming traditional music and dance. He had thousands of tapes, videos, and slides that he had filed and turned into his ‘archive.’ He would have liked to have kept the material in the region, but no one was prepared to fund it: such is Australia. So Fanshawe was reduced to giving public talks to raise money to get back to the UK where he stayed for the rest of his life.

His Pacific Odyssey was inspired by his work on African Sanctus. For this African-based piece, Fanshawe had travelled down the Nile with detours that took the form of a cross on the map. This became the stimulus for his mass. For the Pacific work, his travels took the plan-form of the southern cross. His recordings are acknowledged as astonishing given the conditions he worked in. It is said that he had a skill for identifying the critical sounds in his recordings, their balanced interrelationship. Was it this work that led to his anonymity? Traditional art has no time to concentrate on the individual; the art was everything, the outcome was always critical, never the author – it had nothing to do with things personally intimate, or with personal ‘expression.’ Fanshawe kept his work in this genre when it would have perhaps been easier, and more lucrative, to have become more commercially heroic, more individually noticeable.

Yet his work was astonishing. He wrote scores for television programmes that leave him in the background where he liked to be. Fanshawe told that he was at the Royal College of Music at the same time as Andrew Lloyd Webber, and gently laughed at the difference in their different successes.

It took years for anyone to do anything like his Sanctus work. Paul Simon’s Graceland attempted a similar integration of African and modern sounds, cleverly intertwining rhythms, sometimes smartly in reversal, with new words. While interesting and ‘catchy,’ Graceland is not as ‘pure’ as Sanctus that remains a unique piece that has stimulated similar interests in all other arts. Architecture went through a stage of interpreting the world in the same way as Sanctus touches and treats its sounds, with the old inspiring and being sensitively integrated into the new era that became known in the publications promoted by Charles Jencks as ‘Post-modern.’

That Fanshawe could have such energy and enthusiasm for his work and life in general is astonishing. One can now get some of his recordings that have been released on-line and on CD. The sounds seem as fresh as the day they were recorded. Fanshawe did get good publicity for his Sanctus when the BBC talked him into returning to Africa, and travelled with him as he retraced his journey, seeking out those people he had recorded. In particular, it was the man whose face filled the beautiful cover of the record jacket that became the core search, and the greatest celebration. Fanshawe wore his ‘spirit’ cap in remembrance of this occasion. After this BBC programme was played, African Sanctus became a best seller. It was a first and a last for Fanshawe who continued on enthusiastically with his writing and recording. His was a commitment to music in all of its forms, not to merely becoming a ‘star.’

Fanshawe’s genius lay in his modesty that was concealed by his exuberance for life and its expression in music, a richness in expression that could be seen by some as ‘over the top.’ A video showing his work in Paul Gaugain’s Tahiti, Musical Mariner 1986, typically reveals his energy and interest. He speaks to people as though he cares for them, truly interested in learning about their understanding of their music rather than grabbing it and turning it into his ‘top-of-the-tops’ version. In this way he is approaching traditional art exactly as Ananda Coomaraswamy said it should be. The modern world is only too quick to make its own judgement and to use other ‘art’ material that is rooted in specific spirituality and symbolism; assessing it blindly with its own careless parameters and individualistic measures.

That Fanshawe’s death could pass without any public primal scream is astonishing and promotes exactly the attitude that Plush pushed, making nothing but scornful fun out of the work of a man who knew he was, in some cases, recording the very last sounds from some traditional life that the world would ever hear: but no one could care. The Fanshawe archive holds significant material, but the world could not care about this as it races ‘forward’ regardless of any circumstance or outcome, believing this is ‘progress.’ The lack of any interest in Fanshawe’s death seemed similar to the Australian media’s interest in both of the fires in the Mackintosh Glasgow School of Art: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2014/05/glasgow-school-of-art-burns.html

The archive

We will learn that we will have to care about the past if we are to have any future beyond mind-numbing AI which clearly defines itself as ‘artificial’ intelligence. We have to be beware of things artificial, and superficial, no matter how astonishing they may appear. Life itself, its experience, that expression and understanding that lingers at the heart of all cultures, needs to find itself a place and form in modernity, and be respected, celebrated anew. Without this we will be as superficial and artificial as the AI that technology seems certain to push on to us: to, one might say, ‘Plush’ us.

We must do better than this. No matter what tools are developed, what games we might play, we remain flesh and blood; breathing and feeling in a universe that remains, at its heart, as mysterious to us as it was to all other times, if we pause to consider it. This needs celebration in its understanding, not domination by things that concentrate on and tell only about ME, and MY bespoke, ‘selfie,’ importance in the universe. Fanshawe’s music can give us a clue on where to start. It is invigorating, enlivening; full of shared joy and hope, and commitment, qualities that are sadly fading in our hateful world of quick self-interest.

David Fanshawe (Hon Degree of Doctor of Music)

Fanshawe and his work needs to be remembered, not just ‘Plushed’ away as an irrelevance. Seek it out; be enriched – it still lives: see -

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Fanshawe

https://www.australianmusiccentre.com.au/artist/plush-vincent

Spitfire Audio gives access to some of Fanshawe's archive material

# ON BEING MOVED
Writing in the introduction of Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali, (Macmillan, London, 1913), William Butler Yeats noted how he had ‘carried the manuscript of these translations (of ‘Song Offerings’) about with me for days, reading it in railway trains, or on the top of omnibuses and in restaurants, and have often had to close it lest some stranger would see how much it moved me.’

Song 17 I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands. (p.14)

ARABIA FINLAND RUSKA - TIME, FORM & FUNCTION

The drive into Lerwick from the north always starts with the detour into COPE. This is 'the recycling store,' as it has recently renamed itself in its promotions. Here one never knows what might turn up, even in books. Folk in Shetland have always been interested in 'wirds,' as the local tongue, the Shetland dialect, names them. Did this spelling come from a typo, with the qwerty layout neighbouring the 'i' and the 'o', or is it purely a naive attempt at phonetic matching? - see http://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-language-shetand-dialect.html

COPE Lerwick

Whatever the origin of ‘wirds,’ at COPE there are always some good books on the many shelves in the book corner, a part of the large shed-space that shares its collection of printed material with a sundry array of furniture, frames, glassware, china, electrical goods, and the usual ad hoc shambles of odd and quaint donated items that still have a use, but only for someone else. One might call the process a 'revisioning,' rather than a 'recycling,' as it involves other eyes and ideas to see different futures for what have become for someone, tired and useless, unnecessary things; obstacles, nuisances, but not trash.

COPE is an interesting, a wholesome place with a sense of the Aladdin's cave, but not to the extreme seen in some crammed, choked up, 'ye olde' antique shops promoted on television auction shows. Tucked away in some corner, or just standing there, might be just what one has been looking for. We recently found a small table with four folding smaller ones hanging below it; we had seen such a piece years ago and admired it. The added blessing is that the money goes towards employing those with disabilities who work in the centre. The name COPE holds a nicely quiet, subtle reference: see - www.cope.ltd.uk

We opened the COPE door on yet another routine journey to Lerwick for supplies, both for food and drink, and hardware - we are reconstructing an old extension - and strolled into the big tin shed. Travel to Lerwick, the largest town in Shetland, involves a trip from our island, Unst, of at least one-and-a-half hours, with two ferry crossings: it takes longer if the schedules are out of sync, or if there are issues with weather or staffing. Despite its familiarity, the journey is always an interesting drive. Shetland is a place of variability, known for its quirky weather that can, as the cliché notes, be all seasons in one day: indeed it can be so. This constant change in light and shade embellishes, enshrines, the variety of ever-changing vistas as the road rises and falls over flat, bare hills, and twists and turns between sea, loch and land under a wide sky that is likely to be any shade between a glorious, bright blue, to a dim, dark grey, hues that are all reflected in the depths of gleaming water. On sunny days, the moving clouds playfully shade the contours of the open hills and the tidy fields; on clouded, overcast days, the country softens into a gentle, monochrome, a frequently misty, picturesque landscape. Shetland is a photographer's delight.

The collection of islands is like a Henry Moore sculpture immersed in the ocean, with parts only partly exposed, such are the moulded, weathered, treeless surfaces textured by time, use and weather, that are intertwined organically with water. The marks of ancient divisions and the not-so-old crofts, and crofting practices, are all clear to see both as ruins and scars. The old scattholds and the ploughed, worked, croft lands stand out as precise, different blocks of colour; the first, the open common lands, being a rich, heather brown mossy 'moorit,' as the dialect calls it; the latter, the crofting areas, being a variety of shades from the golden yellow of the cut grass, to the emerald green of its lush, flush of growth. These shades fade into a variety of soft greys with distance, shaping swelling layers of hills that are matched in the waters as they fade, melding into the haze of horizons and the variability of the sky. One is always amazed, no matter how frequent the drive might be: every turn is revealing; a real revelation.

Lerwick

The COPE staff manage things well, creating interesting, inventive displays of the items on sale, giving them all a new pride of place beyond their dismal dismissal. On the right of the entrance is a recreated living room, fully furnished, complete with pictures on the wall and cottage teapots on the sideboard, ceramics strangely labelled 'not for use, decoration only.' The oddity is that so much trouble has gone into making this decorative 'olde cottage' - the classic 'Anne Hathaway' house - piece into the form of a practical, functioning 'teapot' item. Why bother if it cannot be used as a teapot? Forget about 'form follows function'; here form follows cottage.

On another occasion at COPE, a very pretty, small, royal blue jug with gold embellishments, had been purchased with the same warning message burned into its glaze, but with the additional, alarming, note that it could be 'poisonous' if used. Why might anyone think this reasonable? Were these irrational pieces made only for visual interest, for tourists to take home for casual remembrance only; for appearances, perhaps to impress friends? - see http://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-souvenirs-place-memories.html  Maybe they were pieces intended for the classic Victorian china cabinet that was only ever opened to add to the collection?

As one moves on into the height of the shed, the table displaying the latest collected goods invitingly blocks one's path with a silent proposition: does anything here interest you? One never knows what might be spread out on the table top or below it. Usually there is an array of pretty porcelain pieces, pots, and plates. This time, the eye-catching decorative display items were accompanied by stacked cooking pots, with spades, handles and candles in boxes below. Then the eye saw something familiar - the circular, matt-brown, moorit-glazed forms of plates, ramekins, and a cooking pot, all with a distinctive flat, rimmed edge: Arabia ware?

We had collected a full set of the Finnish, Ruska ceramic tableware and cookware, starting back in the early 1970s. We would meander through The Craftsman's Market at Toowong, in Brisbane, just to look at the various pieces. This was a shop run by Joy de Gruchy, wife of the university lecturer, Graham. These South Africans had moved to Australia, Graham to lecture in the School of Architecture at the University of Queensland, and Joy to open this stylish, progressive, modern design shop that sold all things then fashionably Scandinavian: Marrimekko fabrics, Finish lighting, furniture, cutlery and cookware; and Arabia ware. Most of our pieces came from this fashionably flashy place that was always exciting to visit. We used to go through the piles of Arabia browns to 'knowingly' pick out the darkest ones, and come back for more once new stock was in. Otherwise we would visit just to admire and drool at the modernity. The variety of functional forms of the Ruska styling astonished, just as the boldly coloured Marrimekko prints did, and still do. We recently visited the Marrimekko store in Dubai to see everything the same, but different. The style appeared to be more managed, more commercial, less rawly innocent and enthusiastic; less 1970s naive. The sparkle of spirit appeared to have been dulled into mere classy repetition of things for profitable sale, rather than being products enhanced by the refreshing glow of the immediacy of creativity.

Marrimekko prints

Now, at COPE, the memories flooded in. How can a few simple objects be so provocative? Our Ruska set was used daily for well over twenty years. Only one piece of this set ever got damaged, and this was from a small, heavy object dropping on to it, chipping it, rather than as a result of its everyday handling. It was a much-loved, earthy, fresh set of pieces: beauty in raw, unembellished, weighty function. Brown had become fashionable in the 1970s: Mission Brown. The Ruska Arabia ware was iconic, having everything desirable - it was an unapologetic, undecorated, functional form, Scandanavian, and brutally brown: Brutalism was in the wind. The colour named 'Mission Brown' was being used everywhere as the preferred timber trim colour to contrast with the modern white walls. It became the ‘Sydney vernacular’ for the period. The darker colour eventually became a cliché joke that even comedians used time and time again to reference bad habits of past, tired times. Arabiaware Ruska suffered the same, but silent insult.

As the years passed, the colour brown, and the stoneware Ruska, fell out of favour. The complete set was put aside, replaced by more colourful, lighter pieces of finer, more decorative porcelain.# Eventually the Arabia ware set was handed on to the children for them to enjoy, or otherwise, as the case may be. The set still exists and is still happily being used, happily.

Arabia Valencia

Iced Vovos

Arabia ware had become a worn cliche like its colour, to be mocked like the stolid Volvos and the over-fancy Iced VoVos, a biscuit made by a local firm. One was seen as a naive traditionalist, a 'ye olde worldly,' gullible, ignorant fool if one voiced a liking for any of these old favourites, be this Arabia ware, Volovs, or VoVos, now all dismissed as being something dismally undesirable, boring. It was certainly, as would be said today, "Not cool" to admire any of these styles.

Volvo 1970s

I recall once writing about 'my favourite piece of design' in response to an ABC Radio National question. I chose the large Ruska mug that I had used for over twenty years, a few times every day. It was a satisfying piece, easily well-held by the hand that comfortably fitted the large, smooth profile of the mug's shaped-for-hand, generous grip. The top edge of the mug was surprisingly delicately shaped with a fine, outwards curve that touched the lip and mouth with a subtle, unselfsconsciously pleasant fit that encouraged lingering. The mug was visually admirable with its squat, square proportions; it sat well, as well as being beautifully tactile, big, and durable. The hand could wrap around the softly smooth, full, handful of the cylindrical circumference of the mug on a winter's night as one warmed the body both inside and out. The simplicity and modesty of the mug gave a rich variety of sensory involvement in the experience of its use. It was all one could ask of any design* - but it was an irrelevance, dismissed as being 'past it.' There were many more fashionable, 'clever' designs to highlight.

One had forgotten about the Ruska set until it was seen there, on the COPE table, as a true, old friend, saying, "Here we are! Take us home." What had been assumed to be 'Arabia ware' was picked up in order to check its provenance: were these pieces really Arabia ware, Finland, or copies? Copies had been made, such was the success of the design. The two large and two small plates, and the cooking pot had no markings on them, nothing. With our set, we found out that the white, brand imprint smudged and eventually wore off after about five year's of use, so this lack of a mark meant nothing. The pieces felt good. On lifting up and turning over one of the five ramekins, the familiar marking was seen in its full pristine character. The marking appeared on all five square, circular bowls, with only a couple of the brand markings showing any signs of wear. Some ramekins had never been used. The castellated graphic shape - was this a stylised crown? - above 'Arabia,' over small block letters spelling 'Finland,' with the florid script text 'Ruska' below, brought back fond memories of quality and joy, of earlier discoveries, as one recalled the various pieces that were sought out or had 'just appeared' on the shelf in the 1970s. Below this block of printed white text was a blurred line of what one assumed to be letters over a small, semi-circular graphic that all seemed to be saying 'ovenproof.' It certainly was. We had used it for years for everything with complete satisfaction until it had become such a familiar part of our lives, that we moved on to other things without a thought of any loss or consequence.

And now, over forty years later, we were using it again. It felt like home, coming home, (the seductive rhythms of Mark Knopfler's Going home comes to mind), being at home, with the Arabia ware giving as much quiet joy as ever, even on the other side of the world, closer to its home in Finland. One wondered, who in Shetland had purchased these items? As with the books, one has learned not to be surprised by Shetland folk, and their remarkable breadth of interests. We discovered an early 1890 guidebook to Paris in our little cottage that was built in 1852. Shetland gives the impression of being a remote backwater, neglected, neglectful of the rest of the world, full of dumb, parochial crofters. The country is easy to underestimate. It is really far more than one could ever anticipate: and so are the Shetlanders themselves. They are shrewd, wise and not given to public display. No wonder someone liked the Ruska that still proves to be a wonderful design; one could say, truly tried and tested.

It reminds one of good, quality architecture.

Sänynätsalo Town Hall, 1949-52 Alvar Aalto Architect

* I have recently written about the Porsche sink design made by Franke: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2016/02/bespoke-brilliance-trials-of-quirky.html

 It is a wonderful piece too, for similar reasons. Also see Portaloo . . On Shetland character, see: . . Mackay Brown (yet to be published).

#
NOTE:
Arabia did not onIy make what might be seen as bland, brown, functional pieces. We have pieces of its exuberantly wonderful florid blue set, Valencia. These decorated pieces, with a design that was also produced in brown, are distinctively rich, with vibrant blue brushwork on white. Sometimes the blue is so dense that it becomes a black sheen. The stunning energy of the work is best seen in the boldly brushed 'Arabia' on the underside of the piece. Here the distinctive hand of the artist becomes explicitly admirable. These are very beautiful pieces of pottery that make other decorated work appear flimsy, weak; uncommitted; puny.

P.S.
As an aside, it is interesting to observe the geometry embedded in the Ruska- styled design. It is circular in plan, but rigorously square in section. Aldo van Eyck, in Team 10 Primer, in one of his texts, tells of the Dogon basket with a circular top edge and a square base, being symbolic of heaven and earth. Ordinary, everyday things in this remote society held significant meaning in their simplicity. Does this power lie latent and unrecognised in the brown Arabia ware? Do we touch the universe when we handle it?

THE BRAND:

Arabia is a Finnish ceramics company, founded in 1873 by Rőrstrand, and currently owned by Fiskars. Arabia has specialized in kitchenware and tableware.

The original Arabia porcelain factory is located in Toukola (Helsinki); now it houses Aalto University School of Arts, Design and Architecture.

Ulla Procopé and Esteri Tomula were among the best-known artists and designers for the company.

In 2016 the factory in Finland closed. All Arabia products are now made in Thailand and Romania.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arabia_(brand)