LIFE AS PILGRIMAGE - 2 - The Performance & Dressing Up For God

Down hill from the family home in Dyson Road, a mere ten minute walk away, was St Augustine's Church of England Primary School. There I was presented with a daily assembly of hymns, prayers and readings. I don't remember this being particularly churchy or solemn, though perhaps a child never sees these things with such a jaundiced eye. St Augustine's had a monolithic Victorian stone built church, looming massively right next to it. In amongst the surviving momentos of my early education is a small exercise book. At some point in my early childhood, I wrote and illustrated this. And it contains  Christian religious instruction, a standard part of a C of E Primary School's curriculum, And this booklet definitely tilted more towards the Anglican, than the Non Conformist approach. Complex ideas of sin, original and actual, written out on a blackboard for me to copy in my rudimentary understanding of English spelling.  I learnt I was primarily a Child of God, though it's never explained what surrogate role my parents played in this.

I believe, because I was brought up Methodist, with chapels and services so plain and scarcely adorned, I had an appreciative response to Anglican, even Anglo Catholic, churches, rituals and ostentation, that was an eye opener to wonder and awe. After an upbringing starved with restrained aesthetic stimulation, you just blubber your face in the luxurious bubble bath of it's sensory stimulation. By comparison this felt life enhancing, conjuring up a response of being giddily thrilled. 

Whilst at Primary School, around the time I was eight, it was discovered that I had a passably good boy soprano voice. And the music teacher, Miss Gilliat, told my parents she thought I was good enough to be a chorister in Halifax Parish Church. Being good at singing, is something of a wasted talent in a Methodist Chapel. There was nothing more to offer a boy soprano than sitting up in the gallery singing along with the buxom ladies in the ad-hoc, who ever turns up sings, choir. Anyway, after a thorough audition by the Parish Church choirmaster, I was in. 

Being in a leading part of Church of England services, with it's candles and incense, felt rather exotic. It also gave me permission to dress up in a burgundy cassock, white ruff and surplus. There was an heightened sense of beauty, elevated through singing anthems, hymns, Festivals of nine lessons and carols, and on one occasion Bach's St Matthews Passion. All this was utterly exhilarating to a pre-pubescent choir boy, from a non-conformist background. From these experiences was born enduring lifelong loves - for church music and architecture, to name but two. The power of the human voice in song, to connect you, lays out a more transcendent relationship with divinity, however briefly experienced in the full flow of a performance.  Singing was the first thing I'd discovered that I was confident in knowing I was actually rather good at, 

And this flipping between austere almost minimalist aesthetic and the effusively baroque over the top coloured maximalism, remains a dynamic pull within me still. My Methodist upbringing, plus my art and design training, pull me towards the former, whilst my instinct, and the thing I adore most is the latter. Over the years, in my own artwork, I've learned to intuitively place more trust in the maximalist in me, and ignore any inculcated tendency to temper my expressiveness back to a more restrained, less emotionally indulgent form. You are taught at art school, that this is what serious artists do. The pursuit of beauty was an inherently distrusted motive, it was manipulative, even untruthful. And a similar dichotomy existed at times within my relationship with Buddhist practice. Either refined to the essentials, like a Zen monk, or the rich exuberance of Indian or Tibetan rituals. Restrain your engagement with emotionality, avoid cultivating intoxication or excessive indulgence. There was my habitual English upbringing in the Protestant moderation in all things, which became further reinforced by meeting a familiar friend in Buddhist restraint.

As a child, I had a passionate and exuberant side to my character, that I tended to suppress because I felt that it was unacceptable. But in my choices of music, my love of art, for performing, for OTT camp, and having made in later life friends from Latin American and Indian cultures, I discovered a way of being human, a joyful light hearted exuberance to be enjoyed in an uncomplicated way. I think if I'd been more self confident earlier in my life, this outgoing side of me might have found space in which to fully manifest. Instead I retreated into myself, and concealed this side. There has been times when I instinctually felt In had betrayed my personality. For within every closeted introvert, is an misdirected extrovert trying to find their way out of the cupboard.