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  • Essay: Notes Towards a Meaningful Career – Powerful Reflections

    Notes Towards a Meaningful Career, George Achebe

     

    Lately I have been thinking about something rather fundamental: the meaning of work. This is, after all, something which at Finito we seek to secure for our candidates: a meaningful career. But meaning, after centuries of philosophy, tends to have a somewhat slippery nature. Sometimes we glimpse it more vividly by its absence: ‘Well, that’s just meaningless,” we might confidently assert, implying as we do that there is some realm where meaning might reside. Sometimes, we are lucky enough to receive some clear sense of intuition: “I really must do that,” and it is an interesting question, though outside the scope of this article, as to why these prompts do seem to arrive in human beings.

    All these matter, however, become no less straightforward when we come to consider the question of meaning as it relates to careers. This is not too surprising since work is what we spent such a large part of our lives doing – so much so that the two are hard to separate.

    And yet it is a very common wish: I just want to do something that matters. Similarly when we say: this isn’t for me, what we’re typically pointing towards is the lack of perceived meaning in a particular role from our own perspective. Sometimes, this might be valid: we burn inside to paint a great picture but destiny has cruelly landed us with a data entry job. On the other hand, as we shall see, we must be careful to assign meaningless to a role without first having its explored its possibilities, and what it can teach us.

    Nevertheless, I ask the revered psychologist Dr Paul Hokemeyer what in his clinical experience constitute the most common mistakes when it comes to forging a meaningful career. “Personally and professionally, I’ve discovered one of the biggest mistakes people make regarding career choice motivations comes from the blind pursuit of power, property and prestige,” he tells me. When I ask him for examples he becomes autobiographical.

    “I found this to be the case in my own life when straight out of university, I decided to go to law school and become an attorney in America. While I actually loved the process of studying law, working as an attorney with a big American law firm was not suitable or sustainable for me in the long term. I also find this to be the case with my patients. Decisions made purely for external validation and the promise of riches tend to lead people into jobs and careers that while gratifying in the short run, are unsustainable or cause them to engage in unhealthy coping behaviours in due course.”

    This rings true. Power has, as Rishi Sunak may soon discover, a funny way of evaporating in the hands of the supposed holder: it’s like trying to grip smoke. More generally, there are people one sees, sometimes at the bar at Conference season, who seek power but if it were to be granted them, wouldn’t for an instant know what to do with it in any meaningful way. In fact, when we consider past UK Prime Ministers, the ones we think of as having the most success usually had a relatively developed sense of the potential meaning of them holding that office, and the skills with which to see it through.

    William Pitt the Younger understood that the public finances must always be on a proper footing for Britain’s prestige to remain intact – and he ensured that it was so, with considerable longevity in office as his reward. Churchill in his first term had a very clear mission – to defend the nation from Nazi Germany. But there was less purpose to his second administration other than perhaps to remain in office, and so we tend not to study it for the simple reason that there is less meaning to extract from it.

    And what of the current administration?  When I talk to the Chancellor of the Exchequer Jeremy Hunt about the meaning of the current government and whether he should be going for more attention-grabbing tax cuts, say council tax or stamp duy, he says, referencing his budget earlier in the year: “I chose national insurance because it is the tax cut which is most going to grow the economy. My cuts in National Insurance will mean that 200,000 more people will enter the workforce. There are 900,000 vacancies in the economy so these are the most pro-growth tax cuts you could have.”

     

    25/10/2022. London, United Kingdom,Prime Minister Rishi Sunak has appointed The Rt Hon Jeremy Hunt MP as Chancellor of the Exchequer, Picture by Rory Arnold / No 10 Downing Street

    Hunt implies that meaning within our work is simply to be found in honestly doing our work as well as possible, regardless of how one is perceived. But, of course, he can sometimes seem blithely unaware that his ability to continue to conduct the work beyond the next election is intimately bound up with precisely those external factors which he goes onto disavow: “To the argument that I could have done a tax cut which was a bit more retail, I think the electorate are alert to chancellors to try and bribe them for the election. If I’d done that I don’t think it would have worked.

    The reason people vote Conservative is because they trust us to take the difficult decisions. Sometimes there isn’t a magic bullet and you have to do the hard yards. Making sure we have economic credibility is far more important than trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

    For someone like Hunt, the meaning in his work is to be found in carrying out his position responsibly, and I respect his desire to operate according to this sort of internal gauge of what is right. But what of the other potentially false motivation Hokemeyer points to: money. The Finito mentor Sophia Petrides agrees with Hokemeyer that this is a potentially dangerous motivation for a career:  “Pursuing a career path primarily for financial gain can lead to dissatisfaction if the individual does not have a genuine interest or passion for the work.

    Additionally, high-paying jobs often come with long hours, intense competition, and high levels of stress, which can negatively impact our physical and mental state.” But for Petrides, prestige and status are also potentially dangerous metrics by which to choose a path in life. “Some individuals are attracted to careers associated with high social status or prestige, such as becoming a doctor, lawyer, or CEO,” she continues. “While these professions often garner admiration and respect from others, pursuing them solely for their prestige can lead to dissatisfaction if the work itself is unfulfilling.

    Over time, this lack of gratification can result in boredom and loss of motivation, which can be detrimental to one’s performance and success in the business world. Additionally, the pressure to maintain a certain status can contribute to stress and burnout, impacting both mental and physical well-being.”

    Of course it is possible to make a lot of money, and then around that achievement to create permanent structures with which to be useful and kind, as many of our bursary donors at Finito have done. Furthermore, it may be that one is actually constructed to take an interest in economics or the markets. Warren Buffet is, for instance, someone who plainly has a fascination with the orchestral nature of markets – an orchestra which at his best he obviously found some inner meaning in conducting.

    But it must be said that the world isn’t exactly stocked with passionate bankers. There aren’t many that I’ve met who fit the caricature of the Dickensian villain; more generally the danger is that certain high-flying types, who have placed money at the centre of their being, exhibit a certain thinness. They are what TS Eliot, a banker himself, called ‘the hollow men, the stuffed men’.

    There are other mistakes which people make when it comes to finding meaningful work. Hokemeyer pinpoints another: “Another mistake is when people make career choices based on what other people, especially parents, think they should do with their lives. Typically, these parents are well meaning. They want their children to be financially secure and hold prestigious jobs. Sometimes, however, parents are more motivated by their own self-interest or narcissistic personalities. They have created a legacy business they want to see continued, or they find ego gratification from the external successes of their children.”

     

    Finito mentor Sophia Petrides

    Sophia Petrides agrees: “Choosing a career path based on the expectations of others rather than your own interests, while this may initially provide a sense of approval, validation, and belonging, it can lead to resentment and unhappiness if the individual feels trapped in a career that doesn’t align with their true authentic values and interests.”

    We all know the trope: the unhappy banker whose father was a happy banker. In such instances – especially common among the children of the successful – what appears to happen is that a person lacks confidence to feel that meaning might be personal to them, and not somehow an aspect of one’s identity as a family member. It can amount to a crisis of confidence at the level of the soul, and is greatly to be discouraged. Whole lives have been wasted this way. Philip Larkin wrote that it can take a lifetime to climb free of your wrong beginnings.

    Allied to this, again according to Petrides, might be another major reason for pursuing the wrong line of work: fear of failure. “When we live our lives in fear of failure and uncertainty, it can lead to avoiding risks and challenges in our careers, limiting opportunities for growth and advancement,” she tells me. “We may stop being creative and innovative, which hinders our ability to solve problems effectively. This complacency can lead to procrastination and a feeling of being stuck in our careers. In the long-term, this can result in stress, anxiety, and burnout, which have disastrous outcomes for our physical and mental health.”

    This fear of failure is almost always allied to seeking approval from a false source. Petrides argues that external validation isn’t something which we should permit to be in the equation when it comes to carving out our path in life. “Seeking external validation or approval through one’s career choices, such as wanting to impress others or prove oneself, can lead to a lack of authenticity and personal fulfilment. Relying on external validation for one’s sense of worth can make it difficult to find genuine satisfaction and purpose in the chosen career path.”

    Meaning therefore needs to begin with an inward assessment. For some people, the answer as to what really constitutes meaning for oneself will be quite obvious: I simply need to paint, or be a lawyer, or play the harp. Such people are in receipt of very clear instructions, and then it becomes a question of how to do it and this will involve study, and perhaps some form of networking. None of this is to be underestimated in today’s interconnected and highly competitive world, but the task is certainly made a lot easier when an individual is certain what they want to do.

    With this in mind, I ask Hokemeyer about the healthy motivations people assign to their careers and why some people are simply better at strategizing their lives than others? His reply is extremely interesting: “People who are successful at strategizing their careers are good at knowing what motivates them and what will hold their interest over the course of say 50 years.

    They are also able to balance this self-awareness whilst being practical about the costs of living life and putting together an investment portfolio that can sustain them if and when they want to step back from work. It’s a melange of passion and practicality. They find something they are passionate about that they can grow into a solid commercial endeavour over time. They don’t pretend that money doesn’t matter. They get paid to do the work rather than doing the work to get paid.”

    It is common to find artists particularly falling on the wrong side of this wager – they love their work but precisely because of that they somehow keep getting snookered into working for very little. It is quite common for the knowledge that one is working in an exploitative situation to chip away over time at what was once a precious inner meaning. One thinks of the musician who felt a certain fire within looking with vexation at their household bills while each Spotify play earns them around 10p in royalties. A lofty and dismissive approach to healthy finances will ultimately injure one’s sense of meaning, since the energy one needs to enact meaning will likely disappear in stress.

    Yet many fail to do this, and lots of people in fact live out their entire lives with a very limited sense of what they might have been capable of. Somehow the moment of internal reckoning is put off, and put off, until it never comes. Either a mediocre occupation is arrived at, and stuck with for financial reasons. Sometimes because of a certain unaddressed internal fear, no move is seriously made at all throughout one’s existence.

    A wealthy child may, for instance, live off their parents’ wealth, depleting that wealth in the process for future generations. Alternatively, someone may choose to live off the state. Unsure as to what move to make, they end up making none whatsoever. This is tragic because ultimately one has failed to be of use to society, and more broadly, to the universe.

    I ask Hokemeyer why it is that we often fail to examine our core reasons for doing even quite major things, such as what career path to take? Is it that we’re in some fundamental sense asleep and need to wake up? He replies: “Human beings are herd animals. This explains why large numbers of people blindly act in the same way at the same time, following others and imitating group behaviours rather than making their own autonomous decisions.  Right now there is a trend for young university students to want to major in computer science.

    This, even when they are best suited to more romantic interests such as philosophy and art history. When asked why they stay in a major that gives them no joy, these young adults will say that they want to make a ‘ton of money’ and be the next Steve Jobs. Based on this, they struggle in a hyper competitive major and waste the precious opportunity to study something in which they can excel and that will bring them joy throughout their entire lives.”

    This opportunity for joy is precious – and for many it is an all-too brief window.  It is a reminder that we must go to considerable lengths to make our own autonomous decisions and to really ask ourselves if we are acting out of the right values, and whether we are actioning our best selves.

    Tracey Jones is an advocate of mind management and she tells me that she feels the thing which we miss in our society today is ‘introspective reflection’. So what is this? “It refers to the process of looking inward, examining one’s own thoughts, feelings, and experiences in a deep, contemplative, non-judgmental manner. It involves self-examination and self-awareness, whereby individuals reflect on their values, beliefs, goals, and actions to gain insight into themselves and their lives.”

    Jones’ business, called Tracy Jones Life, is wide-ranging and is all about imbuing lives with meaning: “Navigating complexities of introspective reflection is the main part of my work, where individuals can often reach a tipping point of burnout, and struggle with diverse life transitions. Whether stemming from work-related challenges, media exposure, financial changes, selling a business, or transitioning from a specific career. Providing support during these critical moments brings me a profound sense of harmony as I impart knowledge and wisdom, empowering individuals to introspect, realign, reassess, and ultimately progress equipped with a stronger toolkit.”

    For Jones the benefits of this approach are many: “Understanding the mind in this way can indeed contribute to creating a stronger and more cohesive society and it can help individuals navigate conflicts more effectively. By understanding cognitive biases, emotional triggers, and communication patterns, people can approach disagreements with greater understanding and seek constructive solutions.”

    However, in a complex and vast system like human civilisation today, it is impossible that everybody ends up in their so-called dream job. However, for such people, there is a sort of second chance if you read a fascinating little book by a remarkable philosopher called Dr Wilson Van Dusen.

    Van Dusen has a completely different perspective. He regards human beings not so much as herd animals but as beings implicated in a broad and far-reaching pattern – and knowledge of this pattern can be activated at the level of the individual with tremendous results. He would, like most people, wish for people to be fulfilled in their work, but he points out that it is possible to maximise the meaningfulness – or as he would say the usefulness –  of every station in life. He gives, for instance, the following example:

    Two men own and operate a clothing store. Outwardly they do the same thing, sell men’s clothes. Look closer. One quickly sizes up the customer’s wants. The customer likes this color, that style. Let’s see — perhaps this is what he wants? Everyone is different, and the salesman enjoys finding and serving these differences. He is pleased to see the clothes he sold appearing here and there around town. The other clothing salesman pushes this or that, touts it as a bargain. The profit-making sale is his end, not the customer’s needs. He serves only himself. The first salesman serves himself and the other person. It is a mutual benefit.

    So the question of whether each clothing store owner really wants to be a clothing store owner isn’t paramount for Van Dusen. Their core motivation may perhaps have a bearing on their attitude to the role but the point is that once in a role you can choose to see its value or not – and choose also whether to maximise your usefulness within that position.

    Great rewards attend anybody who takes on a new role, and looks around and tries to fill it with as much creativity, empathy and other positive states as possible. Many people may read Van Dusen’s book and think: “Well, I wouldn’t mind being a clothes store owner – that’s a much better job than mine, and I don’t see how I can make the best of it.” But Van Dusen has pre-empted this response with the following example:

    I am reminded of the Zen monk whose job it was to clean toilets in a monastery. The whole purpose of life in the monastery is the enlightenment that is a seeing into God and All There Is. How does this jibe with cleaning toilets? Fortunately, he used his menial task as The Way at hand for him. At first in the cleaning he was taught much of cleaning so that he probably produced some of the cleanest toilets of all time. He was also shown much of his own nature and faults.

    Then he began seeing general principles in his work. Finally, after all this step-by-step preparation, he found the One, the design of all creation. God came forth and cleaned through his hands. His wisdom became apparent and he was elected abbot of the monastery. But he loved The Way that had opened for him, so he continued to clean the toilets.

    This might seem far-fetched, but I can attest it is certainly worth a try. You might perhaps have been putting off paring back the lavender for the past few weeks. A plant that really ought to be providing pollen for bees, and therefore, by the success of bees, improving the diet of certain bird species and so and so forth up the food chain has, under your dubious watch, ceased to do that.

    It starts to annoy you and you don’t like the feeling so you do nothing. You also might tell yourself you’re busy and don’t have the time. But what if, one day, you make the time and prune the lavender? You might be a bit surprised at how that goes. Suddenly the feeling of guilt has gone away. In a month or so, you will see bees in your garden. And Van Dusen’s point is that all jobs are crying out for use in this way.

    Interestingly, Jones also took a visit to Nepal in 2023, and there watched Buddhist monks engage in ‘Monastic Debate’. She was struck by the atmosphere at the monastery: “Monks present and defend their viewpoints, challenge each other’s assertions, ask probing questions, and engage in critical analysis. The atmosphere is one of mutual respect, seeking truth, clarifying concepts, and sharpening one’s own understanding.”

    Jones drew the following lesson: “The practice of debate also encourages active listening, empathy, and understanding of differing viewpoints. By engaging in respectful dialogue and considering diverse perspectives, monks cultivate compassion, tolerance, and open-mindedness, which are essential qualities for building strong relationships. Whilst I would watch these debates, it made me highly aware that we could learn so much from these ancient traditions.”

    She’s certainly right about that and it all amounts for a new place to look for meaning – not in some external placement or vacancy but in a place you can actually control: yourself.

    This understanding of uses, based perhaps around the sort of cultivation of compassion which Jones describes, ought to form part of any mentoring relationship. We ought to not think about we might become more successful, wealthier, and people of greater prestige: we ought to consider how we might be of use. Sophia Petrides has direct experience of this in her mentoring: “A mentoring relationship can be a powerful journey of shared exploration. Instead of solely guiding, a coach/mentor acts as a sounding board and a partner in discovery.

    We embark together on a quest to understand the client’s values, passions, and aspirations. Through open conversations, we challenge each other’s perspectives and assumptions. The client might question my experiences, prompting me to re-examine my own approach. This constant exchange fosters deeper self-awareness for both of us.”

    So it’s a collaborative searching for meaning. “Yes, and it goes beyond goal setting. It’s about uncovering the “why” behind those goals. The client’s journey of fulfilment becomes a mirror reflecting my own purpose as a mentor. As their understanding of their place in the world unfolds, it inspires me to re-evaluate my own guiding principles. In essence, the mentoring relationship becomes a transformative experience, enriching lives.”

     

     

  • Exclusive: Prosper in a busy world – Sir Terry Waite

    How to prosper in a busy world, Sir Terry Waite

    I retain equilibrium in our busy world by having time alone. Everybody needs some solitude and everybody needs a break from other demands of life because we live in an instant age. We notice the effects of this very clearly in all sorts of behavioural patterns – most particularly, in the anger and resentment we all see online.

    It is as if people today now have a very short fuse: they expect to get everywhere instantly, and this is an unconscious development arising out of our constant use of the Internet. Today we have to answer emails immediately whereas before there was a necessity to take life at a more leisurely pace, and to be able to digest things. The best antidote to all this and to prosper is to take time for reflection, and ideally a period of time off each year for a retreat or something of that kind.

    There are three goals to work towards in life in order to prosper. The first is to work for harmony in yourself and establish a healthy balance between body, mind and spirit. The second vital goal is to work for harmony with other people – and to be compassionate and understanding in that regard. The third, which we see people more conscious of today than ever, is to be in harmony with our environment.

    If you look at these three areas, the bad news is that we seem to be suffering crisis on all three fronts. The fact is that the rapid rise in mental illness particularly amongst young people is often due to this lack of inner harmony, and a failure to achieve internal coherence. On the second point, the anger and frustration with our neighbours tends to be brought about by a lack of understanding and compassion. Finally, the way in which we treat the environment is already wreaking a tremendous revenge on us in all sorts of ways when we see all the effects of climate change.

    Of course, there is such a thing as natural climate change, which we accept. However, we have confused the situation by our exploitation of the environment: we are out of harmony with nature, and sometimes behave as if we have forgotten that we are a part of it. The atoms that constitute our human body are the very same atoms that make up the stars. We are a part of a much bigger creative process: we are called upon to be creators and co-creators with God, but too often we behave as consumers and destroyers instead.

    We therefore need to encourage everybody – and especially to encourage young people – to be active in co-creation. The moment you accept this understanding, then an interesting thing happens: a sort of happy responsibility is bestowed upon you, and you become a creator with God. In my experience, this is the moment when the possibilities of life open up, and can be felt in your personal life as much as in your working life.

    The point is, of course, that God has created us in freedom: we are not just here to obey his commands, important as that is. We’re actually called to something far higher: we have been given the ability to choose between creation and destruction. It hardly needs saying that these are enormous powers given to the human species, and that we have to take them with the utmost seriousness.

    Quite naturally, if we don’t realise the importance of this, then we begin to suffer – and it is this suffering which makes up such a visible aspect of our present predicament: the restlessness and uncertainty which we all see when we look at the world. It is because we are not engaged in what we should be engaged in: the co-creation with God of a better world for ourselves and for others.

     

  • Exclusive: Thom Yorke and Stanley Donwood on their new art show

    Christopher Jackson is impressed with the art of Thom Yorke and Stanley Donwood at Tin Man Art

    The Internet may have wrecked the opportunity for tactile nostalgia. When Radiohead’s OK Computer came out in 1997, I experienced it on CD and part of that experience was to be confronted with the physical object itself in the shape of the artwork. There was nothing quite like the album cover – allusive, weirdly beautiful – to prepare you for the album itself.

    Had the Internet not been invented I’d probably have kept my CDs and be able to find the cover. Now I have to google it. Alternatively, I can look at the new pictures of Stanley Donwood and Thom Yorke, which have been showing at a two part exhibition ‘The Crow Flies’ at Tin Man Art.

    These works have been done in collaboration and are remarkably good. The first picture which catches my eye is ‘Let Us Raise our Glasses To What We Don’t Deserve’ – which sounds perhaps unsurprisingly like a Radiohead song title. This shows what might be a sun dominating the canvas, with tendrils coming out of it. Beneath it, a green world told in oil paint seems to be mapped in some way: patterns recur as if they have been pinned down as having special significance. The effect of the oil is to create the memory of its application: it feels as though we can see its movement into place on the canvas.

    Let Us Raise Our Glasses To What We Don’t Deserve

    “That was what I found incredibly exciting. It just stays active for so long,” says Yorke in the catalogue accompanying the exhibition. He draws a lesson about the similarity between oil painting and music: “I became so conscious of the fact that the two processes are almost exactly the same.”

    The first thing you sense with these works is that a lot of thought has gone into it – that there’s some been some heavy-lifting behind the scenes. Donwood tells me: “Our aim is to make work that functions, that does what it is supposed to do, what we intend it to do. Which is, in essence, to convey meaning. Although what that meaning actually is must remain unclear. It’s necessarily quite vague, otherwise we would just write slogans on billboards and leave it at that.”

    I mention that there is a playfulness to ‘Let us Raise our Glasses…’ and Donwood agrees: “One of the influences in these works was the way that Mediaeval paintings have no sense of perspective – if something is not important, it’s small, if it’s vital and interesting, it’s huge. This idea of representation is kind of funny to us, because we’re used to perspective and photography, so to us it looks playful, but it’s just another way of looking at things. All painting is play to an extent; it’s something all children can do, and some children just don’t stop doing it.”

    These pictures therefore provoke a range of responses – and you know you’re in the presence of exciting art when it’s making you smile at the same time as it’s making you think.

    The large sun in ‘Let us Raise our Glasses’ cannot help but evoke climate change – the psychological nature of a hot day has changed these past years to become a cause for foreboding.

    Would Donwood and Yorke shy away from having these works incorporated into that conversation? “Not for a moment. It’s hard just to get up in the morning without thinking about our rapidly changing climate, and that’s putting it incredibly mildly,” says Donwood. “Everything that we rely on, not just for our amazingly comfortable way of life – clean water, electricity, somewhere to live, safety, freedom from harm – all of these things – everything, absolutely everything is at enormous risk from the breakdown of the patterns of climate that have made civilisation possible. There’s no way anything can happen without the menacing spectre of annihilation looming over us.”

    Yorke is also comfortable with these sorts of interpretations: “I’m completely incapable of creating anything without a kind of narrative.” But he adds a post-modernist twist to this, explaining how narrative is rarely linear – and more than that, that the viewer will make their own narratives independent of the artist’s intention. “I see narrative happening in different kinds of ways. You make associations because you need to make associations,” he says.

    Their art, then, is about freedom – it strikes me as an exciting moment in the history of art where the initiative is seized back from the photograph. Yet there’s a paradox here too, because by working in collaboration each has surrendered what we have come to think of as the freedom of working individually.

    I ask whether there is a competitiveness at work here, but in asking the question realise that I have underestimated the long history of working in bands which Yorke has had, and how genially Donwood has fitted in with that ethic. “Not really,” Donwood explains. “We used to take turns at a canvas until one of us ‘won’ it; which is to say that one of us would have the better way of continuing with whatever was emerging, but for these paintings we’ve worked together on the pictures at the same time, and we realised quite quickly that each of us had ingredients which we were more suited to using, techniques of painting or ways of depicting images, but this time these energies were complimenting rather than battling against each other. Neither one of us could have made these pictures alone.”

    I say that I particularly like the picture ‘Membranes’ where the main portion of the canvas is taken up with what might be intertwining rivers – or alternatively may be, as the title suggests, a landscape plucked out of the land of the very small – the universe of the cell or the subatomic particle.

    Bob Dylan once said that all his songs ultimately meant: “Good luck, I hope you make it.” In these pictures there is a gallant sense of mysteries being mapped. Donwood tells me about its genesis: “These paintings were made in two sessions; the first from some time in 2020 (I forget exactly when, but it was back in that strange lacuna which was entirely coloured by the coronavirus) until early in 2022, and the second from early 2023 until the summer of the same year,” he recalls. “The first series became a sort of collection of navigational aids, a set of maps or diagrams of somewhere that had never existed and never would. The second were, perhaps accidentally, some kind of depiction of what you might find if you followed those maps.”

    Membranes

     

    So how did’Membranes’ evolve? “It wasn’t planned in any way – none of these paintings were – but it became a sort of deluge, a flooded landscape, a floodscape really, a rushing tumult that was in the process of swallowing everything it could. Or at least, that’s one way of looking at it. At the same time it’s a huge sound, an immense outpouring of volume that drowns out everything else that might be heard.”

    That reminds us that music is never far from the pair’s collaboration: it is inwoven both in the context of their friendship and in their methodology. But Yorke and Donwood differ here too: “Obviously Thom is a musician and perhaps less obviously I am most definitely not. I can’t play music and I don’t begin to understand it, but I can listen to it, and I have always listened to it. It’s always affected how and what I draw and paint.”

    Yorke’s music continues to mature – in 2023, he debuted a new band in collaboration with Johnny Greenwood and Tom Skinner called The Smile. Their debut album is A Light for Attracting Attention. Do they listen to music while they paint? “The results of making art while listening to classical music are completely different to what they would be if you were listening to jazz, or heavy metal, or someone telling you a story. While we were making these pictures we listened to the music that was being made, the music that would be on the record that would be inside the sleeve that had the artwork we were making printed on it – so we heard a lot of The Smile. But it wasn’t finished music because it was being made at the same time as the pictures, so neither were finished but both were on that trajectory. We also listened to quite a lot of techno.”

    For Yorke, something of the process of The Smile has found its way into these paintings: “Because it is a three piece, things would happen extremely fast and you didn’t really know what it was until you came back. It’s very fast. It’s very fluid.”

    One example of this is the magnificent picture ‘Two Moons’, where I find myself particularly drawn to the sparks which fly out of the moons, suggesting some sort of charge or quickening energy. I ask whether Donwood and Yorke painted these works quickly to capture a rapid creativity or whether the process was more careful than it might appear.

    Donwood is enthusiastic: “This, like all of these paintings was one that revealed itself as it came into being. I didn’t know what would happen; I didn’t know there would be sparks, but right at the end of making the picture it was very obvious that it needed that explosive energy – but just enough, not too much. Any more would have ruined it. It was, counter-intuitively, a really careful and considered action, but one that had to look fast and energetic.”

    Two moons

    I suggest to Donwood and Yorke that the hardest thing about abstract art is to know when it’s finished – when you’re in a process of complete invention, there is no natural moment to finish as there is when you’re seeking to render a literal description of the world. “This is something very difficult – or more precisely, very nearly impossible – to explain,” Donwood admits. “Mostly because I don’t understand it myself; I know for sure when a picture isn’t finished, when it needs more, or when it needs change. But I frequently don’t know what that ‘more’ or ‘change’ is, so there’s necessarily a lot of experiment, much trial-and-error. Mostly error. It’s very useful not to work alone because a second opinion is fantastically helpful when you’re a bit lost.”

    This then is another instance where collaboration can free you of the bafflement which accompanies creativity. “I think it’s a question of balance in the picture – I can’t define what that balance is, but it’s probably something like the difference, when you’re out on the world, perhaps away from everything, between a view that excites your senses and a view that means nothing that doesn’t register as ‘a view’.”

    So what has been achieved here? I think it’s the transmutation of the seen world into something which answers to the complexity of our experience. Take for instance ‘Somewhere You’ll Be There’, where we find a sense of the earth’s upwards force and the volcano-like shapes themselves seem to undergo a metamorphosis into figures – ghosts even.

    Donwood explains: “The notion of inanimate objects or landscape features coming to life is something I am fascinated by. Sleeping giants below the hills, being watched by trees, your surroundings reassembling themselves while your back is turned – I love these ideas. The ghostliness of our surroundings, a kind of hauntology of everyday life… In many pictures that we’ve made there are eyes where perhaps they shouldn’t be. It’s also startling how two simple marks can give such a sense of watchfulness and of a kind of life to almost anything.”

    Somewhere You’ll Be There

    This is marvellous – and speaks to a joy in the work which we might not always feel we’re hearing on a Radiohead album. I ask the pair whether they’re happy during and after painting, or should we be thinking more in terms of struggle and surmounting obstacle? “I don’t think anyone should be thinking too much in terms of struggle or of surmounting obstacles! Life is hard enough as it is, no? But as to whether I feel happy, that’s kind of a little too far in the other direction. There’s definitely a form of satisfaction when a picture is finished, and there’s certainly a kind of joy when everything is going well. This is always tempered with the frustration, misery and sometimes acute depression and what feels like depthless melancholy when things are going awry. I guess it’s the same for all work of this type. Swings and roundabouts, hey?”

    Yes, but after all that fluctuation in experience, it seems that, if we’re lucky, the artist gets us to a worthwhile endpoint which is the picture itself. I hope these pictures will continue to attract viewers and critical attention; they certainly deserve to.

     

    As the Crow Flies: Part II is at Tin Man Art from 6th December to 10th December

     

     

  • Remembering Lord David Young: Tributes from David Cameron, Theresa May, and More

    Former prime ministers and business royalty pay tribute to the remarkable businessman, politician, and philanthropist who sadly died in 2022 at the age of 90

    There are successful business people, successful politicians, marvellous philanthropists and then there’s David Young. He is one of those very few who seemed equally at home in all three worlds. He was also, of course, at the start of his career, a lawyer, and to the many people who came forward to contribute to this special Finito World tribute, a loyal and valued friend, mentor and confidante. His death in December 2022 was met with the dismay and remembered affection which always accompanies the passing of an unusually productive life.

    Young was born in 1932 to an orthodox Jewish family near Minsk in what was now Belarus; his family fled a pogrom there and Young’s father prospered in business, as his son would do. Naturally, he never forgot these circumstances; in her moving tribute Wendy Levene remembers his profound commitment to the Jewish Museum later in life.

    David Young was admitted to be a solicitor in 1955, but it was business – or enterprise, as he would later refer to it – which was his real passion. Even in his early 20s, he was an executive at Universal General Stores. Not all successful executives can successfully found businesses but Young found he could, creating a series of companies in property, construction and plant hire, eventually selling his interest in June 1970 to Town & City Properties plc. The rest of that decade followed on a similar track; it was a tale of considerable success in business.

    When Margaret Thatcher said that other Cabinet ministers came to her with problems and that Young came to her with his achievements, she didn’t add that these were numerous. But then she didn’t have to; Young, who served in her Cabinet for most of the second half of her Downing Street tenure, was always a favourite of Britain’s first female Prime Minister.

    Young served successively in Thatcher’s Cabinets as Minister Without Portfolio, Secretary of State for Employment, and  Secretary of State for Trade and Industry, and President of the Board of Trade. In the latter role he found his metier, racking up air miles on behalf of UK plc. His passion for business was just as relevant to that role as it was in the business world itself.

    Though he would return to government to advise David Cameron on enterprise (perhaps the happiest period of his life), he also had a superb final chapter outside of government in business with Simon Alberga (who writes movingly about his friendship in these pages), and in philanthropy. By this point in life, he was a sage. People continually sought his advice; and he continually found time to offer it. His death was a sadness to all of us at Finito World. We have done our best to preserve, the example of his remarkable life is preserved in this pages.

     

    Former Prime Minister David Cameron

     

     

    I first met David in 1988 when I worked in the Conservative Research Department covering trade, industry and energy. This meant following his department, the Department for Trade and Industry. David was famously one of Thatcher’s favourite Ministers, and you could see why. I was a 20-something researcher; he was a Secretary of State with many years’ experience. Yet he treated me with great warmth and kindness, inviting me to his weekly ‘Ministerial prayers’ meeting, where his top team discussed the challenges of the day.

    Fast forward to 2010 when I became Prime Minister and one of my biggest challenges was bringing down the barriers to business that were preventing our economy from growing. I knew exactly who I wanted to help me in this endeavour. I called up David Young and invited him back into government as my Enterprise Adviser. Fortunately, he agreed. From his office in 10 Downing Street he produced report after report which led to concrete reforms, such as start-up loans, that truly helped to kickstart growth in our country.

    David was my oldest adviser, but he was one of the most dynamic. It was wonderful having him around No10 and being able to call on his advice and wisdom. His legacy lives on in all those businesses he helped to get off the ground, all the policies he helped to drive forward, and all the people – like me – who he inspired during his four decades in public service. He will be much missed but very fondly remembered.


    Former Prime Minister Lady May

     

    Image ©Licensed to i-Images Picture Agency. 01/08/2016. London, United Kingdom. Prime Ministers Official Portrait. Picture by Andrew Parsons / i-Images

     

    David Young was a remarkable man, constantly enthusiastic and brimming with ideas. Crucially these were ideas that led to action which improved the lives of people here in the UK. He was a consistent champion of enterprise and an invaluable adviser to a number of Conservative governments and Prime Ministers. I never met David without him coming up with a new proposal for boosting the economy, encouraging new business or helping young people. His energy and interest in others, together with his passion for enterprise, were infectious and have left a lasting legacy for so many. It was a privilege to have known him.


    Lord Cruddas, businessman and philanthropist

    I met Lord Young when he was Chairman of the Trustees for the Prince’s Trust; it was around 2006. I had created the Peter Cruddas Foundation and I wanted to donate to good causes. At that point, I met Lord Young and instantly took a great liking to him – partly because of his political background. I’m a big Margaret Thatcher fan, because of the way in which she transformed the country. As I knew David had been in her Cabinet, I was awe-struck to meet him.

    But he turned out to be charming – a lovely man, and very down-to-earth. I donated to the Prince’s Trust. Here was a man who was willing to sit down, talk to me, help me, guide me, and mentor me. We became great friends. I invited him to be the Chairman of my Foundation and he introduced me to the lawyer Martin Paisner who helped also.

    Over time, our friendship developed. I went to his house in Graffham and became friends also with his lovely wife Lita, Lady Young. At his house in Graffham, there was a Spitting Image puppet of David himself in his study which his family had managed to get hold of, and which I thought was very funny.

    David also introduced me to opera. When you come off a Hackney council estate, you don’t often go to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden; he took time to explain the music to me, and today, whenever I go to the opera, I think of him.

    He was very smart on technology. I remember at his 80th birthday party, one of his grandchildren gave a speech saying that he was one of the few grandchildren who go to their grandfather for technological advice: David could fix anything. Imagine being in your eighties and embracing all this new technology – mobile phones and computers and so on. You always learned about technology from Lord Young.

    I’m very sad that he has passed away. But I take comfort in the thought that he had a good and rewarding life. I’m proud to say he was one of my dear friends. But really it was more than that: he was like the father I never had.


    Ronel Lehmann, Chief Executive of Finito Education

    Lord Young was a legend. David was often to be seen at high-profile business, political, charitable and other community events. He was the one person that every entrepreneur queued up to meet, either to seek his opinion, share news about a deal or development or just to shake his hand. He had time and always made time for you. He always reached out to those who need a helping hand, the old-fashioned way.

    I remember when I was thinking of setting up Finito in 2016, I made an appointment to see him at his offices overlooking Regent’s Park. He liked the purpose that we had set ourselves to help young people find their meaningful career before reminding me of his own passion for the Enterprise Passport, a digital record of activities which he championed for young people to help underpin their own career prospects.

    It was a genius idea never adopted by Government to record pupils through school and beyond about their career development for prospective employers seeking proven employability skills. Earlier this year, we remembered his contribution and paid tribute to his vision at the launch meeting of the AAPG on The Future of Employability.

    We first met many years before when Lord Young was appointed Chair of the British Israel Chamber of Commerce (now UK Israel Business). He penned a letter to his fellow long-standing Board of Directors thanking us all for our service and then asking us for our immediate resignations. I replied, “Dear David, No, Yours, Ronel,” and then continued to serve under his stewardship for many more years. David retorted that he liked to sort the wheat from the chaff. We laughed about it every time we met, and I took pleasure reminding him.

    He had an office at 10 Downing Street under David Cameron’s Premiership and relished holding meetings there to discuss the latest business topics. On one occasion, we sat there drinking the worst coffee ever, but he was so engaged about the issues, it never mattered.

    In his last email exchange with me, I shared with David a letter I had submitted to The Times, praising his idea of the Enterprise Passport. Sadly, it had been rejected, but I wanted to share the letter, and so wrote to him copying in his niece Imogen Aaronson, to whom David had recently introduced me.

    His response was characteristically funny and kind.  “Thank you very much for the thought, pity the Letters Editor did not have your taste and judgment! I am not sure what you two are plotting together but you both are in good hands. Take care and stay safe.” I will miss his smile and bow tie.


    Sir Lloyd Dorfman CVO CBE

     

    One of David’s catchphrases was “Life’s a bicycle – stop peddling, and you fall off!” It was a phrase I often quoted and it encapsulated the man. Well after the point most people have retired, he continued to combine a dizzying mixture of commercial, public service and charity commitments.

    My relationship with David straddled social, charity and business worlds. It reflected the diversity and depth of his life and work. Over time, he became a mentor and a friend, and I always valued his advice and opinions on any subject.

    Whilst I knew David a little from the 1970s, it was really through my involvement in Jewish Care starting in the 1990s that I came to know him better. The charity is the Jewish community’s largest welfare organisation. David was its President and I joined the Board in 1997.

    It was through the Prince’s Trust, however, that I became much closer to him. I was invited to join the charity’s Development Board in 2002, which he chaired. I soon learnt what a pivotal figure David was in the Trust’s evolution. Whilst the charity had been founded by the then Prince of Wales in 1976, David had helped accelerate its growth.

    He was supportive of the charity enabling young people from underprivileged backgrounds find jobs and also start businesses. As Secretary of State for Employment and then for Trade and Industry in the 1980s, he famously devised a matched fund-raising scheme to support the Trust’s enterprise work. The government ended up committing millions of pounds, much more than had been imagined, to the surprise even of his Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

    When David stepped down from the Board in 2007, he recommended I should take his place. I went on to become Chairman of Prince’s Trust and Prince’s Trust International. Overall he played a pivotal role in the growth of the Trust to become, what is today, the King’s oldest and largest charity.

    The charity links did not stop there. I served alongside David on the Board of Community Security Trust, which protects British Jews from antisemitism. David and I also ended up in business together. He brought me an opportunity to invest in an oil technology business. His enthusiasm for dynamic businesses with growth potential never dimmed.

    Over the years, Lita and David became cherished friends. They joined us on one particularly memorable group holiday to the Galápagos Islands. It was the first trip there for all of us. David was an especially keen photographer and took great pride in presenting everyone with a fabulous photo album at the end of the trip. Another lovely social memory was joining him and the family for his 80th birthday weekend at his family home in Sussex.

    This coincided with the end of his time as Chairman of the Chichester Theatre, yet another cause David had poured his energies and talents into, originally rescuing it from closure. David enjoyed the arts and particularly loved coming to the Royal Opera House. When I became Chairman last year, he was characteristically very supportive.

    On social occasions, you saw the side of David as a devoted family man. It was clear how much Lita was a rock for him, and how much he adored her. He would not have had the impact he had, without her constant support.

    David was a loyal friend and an exceptional man, with so many dimensions. His legacy is his family and friends, and the many causes and charities he supported with his leadership, charisma and passion. The world will be a lesser place without him.


    Simon Alberga

    David Young lived an extraordinary life. Through my close association with him in business and communal matters over the course of 26 years, the word I would most closely associate with David is positive. Whether in the realm of business, community affairs or politics, David always approached life with a can-do attitude. In my view, this is a hallmark of successful people and a significant part of the reason David achieved so much in his life. Rather than dwelling on potential impediments to success, David always focused on the art of the possible, and invariably he was a driving force behind making things happen. David believed in the power of one’s actions to effect positive change in the world.

    In the world of business, David was a committed risk-taker, and he always believed success would come through a positive approach to working with good and talented people, despite the inevitable risks associated with business ventures. He was often – though not always – right, though he was right often enough to achieve great things in business. It was, however, in areas which were particularly important to David, such as education and skills development, that he understood the need to think and act positively.

    David was passionately determined to help less fortunate people advance in life. David was a big part of the reason I became involved in the Jewish charity ORT, which helps people across the world with education and skills training to gain employment and provide for themselves, their families and communities. David was also a great communicator with extraordinary interpersonal skills. He was affable, generous, good-humoured and cultured. People loved to be in a room with David, chat with him and, if they were lucky, work with him.

    I will always cherish the 26 years of friendship, mentorship and support I received from David Young. He has left a great void in many of our lives, though if we can take forward his legacy of positivity, then we may also be fortunate enough to achieve some of the great things he achieved during the course of his extraordinary life.


    Wendy Levene

    Both Peter and I knew David and Lita over a number of years, meeting at charity events, mutual friends’ occasions and occasional dinners. We have regularly enjoyed each other’s company and have mutual respect for one another.

    I really got to know David well when I invited him to become Chairman of the Jewish Museum London. Admittedly, it took some persuasion but I won him over and he agreed. That was in 2010.

    We were in desperate need of leadership, integrity and funding. David had all of those qualities. He brought in amazing contacts and raised large amounts of funding to keep the Museum afloat. He had also been involved in other very worthy charities, Coram Trust, Chai Cancer Care and Chairman of the Chichester Festival Theatre – all remarkable institutions to which David devoted much of his time.

    What was so apparent to me was that David loved the Museum and the role it played in the community. He was so proud of his Jewish roots and was determined to acknowledge the role that the Jewish people had played in this country. In his ten years as Chairman of the Museum he and I formed a great working relationship. He teased me mercilessly and always claimed it was all my fault that he was Chairman of the Museum! He loved the Museum and took the Museum out of a difficult period into much better times. David didn’t tolerate fools but admired hard work, dedication and integrity.

    David is very much missed by me and many many people – he left an indelible mark on our lives. Rest in peace.


    Lord Leigh of Hurley

    Lord Young of Graffham was a role model and mentor for me having known him for literally all of my life: he was a friend of my late father –and my grandparents. I remember clearly when he first entered Government how unusual it was in those days for a businessman to be catapulted in to high office.

    His first day in the House of Lords he spoke on training for young people, a passion for him along with tech. Then, shortly afterwards, he had to answer four questions and their supplementaries in a row: that would have been longer than PMQ’s.

    I was always struck by his great humility. Despite rising to great distinction under a number of Prime Ministers, he never needed or sought praise. He knew what he was doing and he knew where he came from, always remembering and respecting his background and his community with enormous acts of philanthropy. He will be deeply missed


    Chelsey Baker, Chief Executive & Founder, National Mentoring Day

    I first met Lord Young back in 2012 when I was a lead mentor for the government backed Start Up Loans scheme, which Lord Young conceived to boost entrepreneurial spirit in the UK. Entrepreneurs were given a mentor alongside a start-up loan to launch their business. Lord Young firmly believed in the value of mentoring citing, ‘The mentor is far more important than the money! That’s what made all the difference to me when I was starting out.’

    I saw the impact that mentoring had on the lives of these young entrepreneurs and came up with the idea to launch National Mentoring Day to increase mentoring for all ages. Lord Young was my first choice to become our Patron. We shared a similar passion for supporting entrepreneurship and a vision for mentoring to be at the forefront of business and education.

    During the inauguration of National Mentoring Day at the House of Lords in 2016, Lord Young gave the opening speech declaring, “I had a mentor when I started my first business, and he saved me more than once. I hope that National Mentoring Day will encourage more people to act as a mentor.” His words certainly left an indelible mark on everyone.

    Last year saw our biggest National Mentoring Day on record. Lord Young believed in my vision to elevate all forms of mentoring and championed our mission to ensure everyone has an opportunity to reach their fullest potential with access to mentoring. For this I will be forever grateful.

    Lord Young loved his bow ties and loved mentoring. The world has lost a truly great mentor, but his legacy will live on not only as our founding patron but in all the lives he touched.


    Michael Hayman MBE

    As he did for a great many, David Young brought solutions to my life and never problems.

    What a privilege to have a friend who lived life to the full and made such an immense contribution to public and business life. He was one of the greats and for all of the right reasons.

    We worked together on the start-up agenda during his time as enterprise advisor to the then Prime Minister David Cameron. He encouraged me and others to have a go at making a difference. The result was the national campaign for early stage firms, StartUp Britain.

    As well as its contribution to UK start-ups, it would, on a personal level, usher in a great and defining friendship between us.

    We had many adventures and for me it was also an opportunity to watch a master at work. I self-styled myself as his ‘bag carrier’, an incredible apprenticeship working with someone with the skill, judgement and attitude to bring people together and get things done.

    He had the greatest of hearts and its pulse pumped with enthusiasm, fun and energy. It brought out the best in you. He was like instant sunshine.

    That attitude I think made all the difference and was key to his incredible track record. If you look at the list of achievements in enterprise policy since 2010 you will see the hand of David Young in all over them.

    He told me that those years in the run up to his retirement from government were among his happiest. Given his career roll call it was a quite a thing to say. But the reason was that it allowed him to focus on small firms, his life passion and mission to see succeed.

    He would often compare and contrast with the recommendations of the Bolton report in the 1970’s that predicted a corporatist future of very large companies with little room for entrepreneurs. It was a view he did not share.

    Fast forward to today and the UK is a small firms economy – five million of them and some 800,000 business registrations every year. That this is so, says much about David’s gift of prediction but also his proactive contribution to making change happen.

    I interviewed him on his last day in Downing Street and remember his words: “We’ve got a good thing going unless we mess it up.” They are words that this generation of politicians would do well to heed in their appreciation of entrepreneurs when it comes to the growth of the economy.

    I often find myself asking: “What would David do?” He’d probably tell me to get on with it. As he told me: “My definition of wisdom is the accumulated memory of past mistakes! “

    And he also said this: “If we all focused our efforts on the journey rather than the destination the world would be a far better place.”

    It was why he believed in action and lived a life vested in the defeat of problems and the pursuit of solutions. I miss my friend immensely.


    Michael Hayman MBE co-founded the national campaign for early stage enterprise, StartUp Britain and chairs the Small Business Charter.

  • The Rise of Portfolio Careers: Could this be the era of the new Renaissance Man?

    Christopher Jackson

     

    I’ve been lucky enough to go often to Florence, more than any other the city of the Renaissance man. Each summer the crowds gather outside the copy of the Michelangelo David beside the Palazzo Vecchio, and I wonder how many people there know that its creator also wrote poetry, and designed the stairs to the Laurentian Library about half a mile away. They queue around the block for the Ufizzi galleries, and when they’re inside they long to see Leonardo’s Annunciation. But it isn’t widely known that Leonardo was also a fine musician and for his time, a mean palaeontologist. People often feel they are dreaming when they come to Italy, because the past has such a strong pull. But we must also ask ourselves why they have that pull. It’s because these figures have a reach and potential that, however clever we might think we are, demonstrably exceeds our own: they were the Renaissance Men.

    For myself, sometimes I’ve taken a moment to sit on the benches in the square Santa Maria Novella, the façade of which was produced by the man who is sometimes said to have started it all Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472). Alberti might be better known if one were better able to pinpoint who he was – but that’s just the point, he was the original owner of what today we call the portfolio career. However he seems to have gone out of his way to make his identity as difficult to define as possible. He was by turns an author, artist, architect, poet, priest, linguist, philosopher, and cryptographer. Alberti is probably now a little in the shadow of Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo, both of whom could do almost anything, and perhaps you might say, could do all those things a little better than Alberti. But there is a daring about Alberti which is part of the Florentine spirit. Perhaps he is more fitting emblem of the Renaissance that Michelangelo and Leonardo, those superb outliers. Alberti embodies the opportunities of doing lots of little things, but perhaps in a way some of the drawbacks.

    It is sometimes said that Goethe, who died in 1832, was the last person alive to know the entire state of human knowledge as it was at that time. Nobody who has studied him can ignore that for Germany’s most famous poet he knew an awful lot about physics – and architecture, art, plants, geology and everything else. Others have observed that Joyce’s Ulysses, that massive work published in 1922, showed that its author had arrived at something close to a complete knowledge of the world as he found it at the start of the 21st century.

    Received wisdom is that this is no longer possible. The story goes like this. In the 21st century it became quite impossible to arrive at any overall view of things, because everything from poetry to mathematics became almost outrageously specialised. You might just about get your head around Nils Bohr’s physics, but it would come at the cost of not being able to understand The Wasteland. I must admit that I have rather tended to dislike this reductive and unambitious way of living. It was Saul Bellow who in The Adventures of Augie March (1953) had its hero say: “This is an age of specialisation and I am not a specialist.” In my own life, I’ve found myself writing books about figures as disparate as Theresa May and Roger Federer – and also had a stab at a long book on American democracy, and fiction and poetry too. I’ve also wanted to mentor, start magazines, edit, paint, and play piano. It is a moot point as to whether I have ever done these things well: but I know this tendency within myself to lie so deep as to amount to a fact of my life.

    This restlessness, you might say, or perhaps inquisitiveness, can be punished by the world. It doesn’t make one easily categorizable. It was something which the late Clive James, who insisted on his write to appear on television, while also translating Dante and learning the tango (and speaking about ten languages), used to complain about. Today it can still look rather peculiar on CVs to have wheeled about continually: he speaks of lack of staying power, and can raise doubts (often justified ones) about the extent of one’s commitment to any one thing.

    One such person is Anushka Sharma, the founder of the London Space Network, who tells me of her own portfolio career. “I worked in politics but then left in 2012 to work in the Olympics,” she recalls. “I then went into self-employment and began working in the start-up ecosystem, before realising my passion was space. I was building up a network, doing a lot in the space sector, and people would say: ‘You’re doing so much in space but not telling anyone.”

    Life for Anushka was somewhat unpredictable. She recalls: “I was straddling one six-month contract with one and then another, getting a break in between, getting access to the space community. I was network mapping and looking at the opportunities. I’ve definitely had a portfolio background.”

    But this, she says, has brought both huge benefits and certain costs. “I’ve followed what I love and what I’m passionate about. My CV was rejected by so many jobs. Prospective employers would assume I’d get bored, or they’d say they didn’t understand my story. It’s only now in retrospect that all this makes sense.”

    Finito mentor Sophia Petrides has seen this regularly with her candidates: “I see this a lot in my work as a coach. Clients who are feeling burned out and stuck often come to me for help in navigating this difficult time and figuring out their next career move. In many cases, a portfolio career can be a good solution. It allows them to leverage their skills and experience in a way that is more fulfilling and sustainable.”

    She attributes the trend to a range of factors. The first is a desire for flexibility. “Many individuals seek greater flexibility in their work lives to pursue multiple interests and accommodate personal commitments,” Petrides explains. “A portfolio career allows them to design a work schedule that fits their lifestyle.” This, she continues, carries with it possible financial benefits, in particular diversification of income: “With the rise of the gig economy and freelance opportunities, individuals may choose a portfolio career to diversify their sources of income. This can provide greater financial stability and resilience against economic downturns or job loss.”

    Of course there’s risk attached too in that one’s roots across different sectors may somehow be shallower than is the case with somebody who becomes highly expert in a single, durable career. People with portfolio careers are best advised to make sure that they are following their passion – or passions – otherwise the risks of this path may not seem worth it. Petrides continues: “A portfolio career allows individuals to pursue multiple interests and passions simultaneously, leading to a more fulfilling and varied work life. This can lead to greater job satisfaction and a sense of purpose. Furthermore, some people have a diverse set of skills and interests that may not be fully utilized in a traditional career path. A portfolio career allows them to leverage all their talents and expertise across different roles or industries.” We’re also, she points out, at a point in time where all this is possible and so why not give it a try? “The nature of work is evolving rapidly with technological advancements and globalization,” she explains. “A portfolio career offers individuals the opportunity to adapt to these changes by continuously learning new skills and exploring different opportunities.”

    However, while these benefits are real, they will likely fit a particular sort of person – and even that sort of person might want to be aware of certain potential drawbacks. “On the downside of a portfolio career, juggling multiple roles or projects can be challenging and may lead to income variability as you constantly chase the next job,” Petrides adds. “Balancing different commitments can also be overwhelming, potentially leading to stress and burnout if not managed effectively. Additionally, you may lack benefits such as health insurance or retirement plans.” All in all, like everything in life, it’s a choice: “In today’s uncertain times, having a portfolio career can offer advantages by making individuals more agile, resilient, and adaptable to change. It allows them to find joy in life by pursuing diverse interests and maintaining a flexible work-life balance.”

    But how to know whether this path is for you? Petrides outlines certain personality types who might be particularly suited to a portfolio career. Her first category are those who are curious and creative, adding that “those who enjoy finding new solutions and exploring different ideas are likely to thrive in a portfolio career. The variety of work can help them stay engaged and motivated.” But she’s also keen to point out that this is no walk in the park. She adds that you’ve got to be self-disciplined (“managing multiple projects and clients requires strong time management and organisational skill” as well as adaptable (“the ability to learn new skills and adjust to changing markets demands is essential for success in a portfolio career”). It’s also important to work on your networking skills.

    So are we perhaps evolving in this direction? Dr Paul Hokemeyer, an admired psychologist who has built up an impressive practice and client base, thinks that’s possible.  “Human beings are born to evolve,” he tells me. “In 1859, Darwin noted that it wasn’t the strongest species that survived, but rather the ones who could adapt to changing circumstances. Over a half a century later, Sartre wrote eloquently about how existence precedes essence. In our modern world, this applies to one’s professional successes and fulfilment in life as well. In my experience in working with young adults and nascent professionals, I’ve found in our rapidly changing world, people are best served by developing a well-diversified set of professional credentials that change over time.”

    So are we therefore in the era of Renaissance Man 2.0?  Hokemeyer is enthused by the idea. “I love the promise of Renaissance Man 2.0. In it, we recognize that life is meant to be lived, relationships nurtured and our earth, honoured.  One of the central features of the original Renaissance Man was that it was grounded in an ethos of abundance, a recognition that the world contains more than enough resources to provide a safe and equitable place for everyone. Given that today science has turned its attention to issues relating to longevity and reversing the aging process, I welcome a renewed focus on issues relating to an embrace of all knowledge and an intentional focus on developing one’s capacity to their full potential.”

    However, as exciting as all this is, I’ve also sometimes wondered whether my own tendency to do lots of different kinds of things might perhaps open up onto fear of failure. It was Sir John Mortimer who was amusingly open about this. As both a barrister and a writer – and a writer across many genres – he only have jokily observed that having lots of projects on the go was a useful wager against failure. Hokemeyer finds this plausible: “There is of course the potential that adopting a scatter shot approach to life is grounded in unhealthy personality and mental health issues. Typically, these include things like imposter syndrome, commitment issues related to poor self-concept and low self-esteem, and issues such as ADHD, bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety and addiction issues. For people who suffer from these aforementioned conditions, their ability to attain success in or mastery over a professional area will be compromised due to their reactive rather than intentional nature.”

    So perhaps it can really be a sort of ‘covert laziness’? “I think there is something to it for sure but I don’t really see the archetypical ‘layabout’ trying different things. They tend more towards the victim mentality. They lay about bemoaning the ills of the world rather than doing anything to change them.”

    Sophia Petrides is not so sure that the motivations for the portfolio career are usually bad. “While restlessness might play a part for some, the core of a portfolio career lies is taking control of your work and shaping it to fit your goals and aspirations.” However, she does concede that there is ‘a danger in not specialising.” Why is this? Petrides explains: “Specialisation allows you to develop a deep understanding and expertise in a particular area. This can make you more valuable to employers and can help you to advance your career. However, there is also a danger of overspecialising. The world is constantly changing, and the skills that are in demand today may not be in demand tomorrow. If you are too specialised, you may find it difficult to adapt to these changes.”

    All of which means there’s a necessary balance to be struck. We no longer expect to spend our lives at the same firm or even in the same profession for our entire working lives. We now have the ability to move about and try different things, and as curious creatures, we are naturally inclined to explore these now opportunities [1]. However, as the world develops swiftly in this new direction, we must also be aware of the need to pursue a portfolio career with a certain measured caution, and be sure above all that we’ve embarked upon it for the right reasons.

     

     

     

     

  • Lessons from the Olympic Spirit: Insights into Competition and Humanity

    Lessons from the Olympic Spirit, Christopher Jackson

     

    It is always a boost to look up from whatever one’s doing to see that the Olympics are just around the corner. That’s the case this year with Paris Olympics – the 131st incarnation of the Games – which begin on 26th July and finish on 11th August. One sees them in the calendar with that same delight with which one sees other rare occasions such as the Football World Cup, or the Ashes.

    Their regularity is sufficient to generate familiar feelings of affection, but the gap between Olympiads is never too narrow as to lead to weariness. The Olympics get to anybody who can be gotten to. In being able to do that, they have a way of joining us together.

    It is worth noting that most sporting events are of more interest to some countries than others. While there has been a noticeable increase in American interest in soccer these past years, it still isn’t the sport which the country’s premier athletes tend to opt for, preferring the dizzying financial prospects of baseball, basketball and American football. China, perennially second in the medals table at recent Olympiads, has only appeared in one FIFA World Cup in 2002, losing all matches and scoring no goals. Similarly the Cricket World Cups are of interest predominantly to nations of the Commonwealth who were taught under Britain’s transient dominion the undoubted virtues of the sport – but it doesn’t travel much beyond that.

    But alongside the sense of international carnival, each Olympiad is also an opportunity to focus in on the host country. We became honorary Brazilians when the Olympics were held in Rio in 2016, and will be honorary Frenchmen this year when the greatest show on earth reaches Paris. Everybody in this country remembers Danny Boyle’s marvellously mad opening ceremony, which celebrated everything from James Bond to the NHS. France, too, has a vast amount to celebrate.

    A brief list might include: l’escargots, steak bavette, Claude Monet, the first cathedrals, Les Miserables, the Napoleonic Code, wine and champagne (the latter invented by Benedictine monks), as well as Joan of Arc, Descartes, Pascal, the Tour de France and, if one were inclined to see past that famous headbutt, Zinedine Zidane. That’s quite a lot to be going of as a first draft of an opening ceremony.

    Nevertheless, the global excitement is one of many differentiators between our Olympiad and the ancient games held at Athens. The political situation in Ancient Greece was inevitably provincial compared to ours, but before we feel superior to them, we might remember that sport in those days was part of an integrated vision of life which can shine a light on our somewhat atomised approach. For instance, the Greeks tended to announce political alliances during their games, and one of the greatest poets Pindar wrote predominantly around sporting themes. I know of relatively few good poems about sport – certainly compared to its apparent importance in our lives.

    Even so, there is still something marvellous about the way in which the Olympics provides one of our links to the deep past. The Olympics open up onto history and complicated questions about meaning and why we deem tasks to be worth doing at all. Today, sport too often seems to be about more than just who wins and who loses; we have made it limited and reductive when it is actually capable of opening up onto exciting realms of meaning.

    But before we broach all that, what makes the Olympics so interesting is that winning and losing seems to mean more at the Olympics than it does anywhere else. There are two reasons for this. One is the occasional nature of the Games, meaning that even a great athlete may only compete in several Olympiads. It is quite possible to be the best athlete in the world at your discipline, and somehow, either due to nerves, injury or bad luck, not get that CV-defining gold medal.

    Colin Jackson was perhaps a bit like this – a great hurdler who fell just short. Conversely, it’s possible to be a rank underdog and by some mix of cunning, gumption and adrenalin-fuelled raising of one’s game, win through. Our Olympic long-jumping champion Chris Rutherford is an example of this: I remember vividly in 2012, his own surprise that he had seized a moment which nobody had especially expected to be his.

    When it comes to the Olympics, such narratives feel enlarged and cannot be replicated in, say, our weekly football matches, where this week’s defeat can be remedied by the following week’s improvement, and even a disappointing season at least cedes, after a brief lag, to the next set of opportunities in a new calendar year.

    But the other reason for it all mattering so much is that many of these sports are weird and wonderful and hardly watched at all by the general public in the period between Olympics. It is a rare delight to find one’s interest in, say, equestrian activities, peculiarly re-emerge every four years, and how swiftly one reacquaints oneself with a connoisseur’s eye for dressage.

    Every four years I am always interested to mentally re-enter the swimming pool, consider again the plight of the lonely Olympic archer, wonder at the dedication of the weightlifter, feel exhausted as I watched the muscled striving of the rower, and look on with amazement at the life decisions of the top table tennis players. I am therefore thoroughly delighted to see that breakdancing makes its debut at the upcoming Games, and shall be tuning in with particular interest to that.

    What makes these quixotic heroes so remarkable is that they have found purpose in activities from which they are unlikely to make much money: this lends a certain purity to their endeavour which feels admirable. It’s incidentally a reason why one never quite buys into the idea of golf or tennis as Olympic sports: we can’t quite believe in Novak Djokovic or Rory McIlroy as feasible visitors to the Olympic village, since they are no doubt en route to their five star hotels.

    They may have suffered once for their art, but they have been too amply rewarded since really to qualify in my mind as Olympians. Most athletes partake in the Games strive in the almost certain knowledge that they will never be rewarded. It is the loneliness of the endeavour which gives it its heroism.

    Besides, it’s the stories you don’t see which really form the essence of the Olympic experience. I remember sitting in the track and field stadium in East London when the Olympics came to London in 2012. I was watching the heats for the women’s 100 metres. I noticed one athlete – I have never been able to discover her name – who was defeated in her heat, and I found myself reflecting that her entire Olympic experience had lasted just over 10 seconds.

    I watched her long walk back to the changing room, already in some way manoeuvred into her post-Olympics life, head bowed and thoughtful. The cameras do not take us there – they need minute by minute drama. A dramatic defeat might make their highlights reel, but not the prosaic ones. Yet to me she had a kind of dignity and decency which made my heart go out to her. She had done what she had to do.

    One wonders sometimes about the voices which prompt these athletes to follow these paths. We can only imagine that there is an authentic need here, a wish to take part and belong to something larger than oneself – to strain, to go on a journey of discovery, to compete and to learn to live with defeat or acquire the taste of victory.

    I hope that that athlete who lost in qualification may over time have come to reflect that she had much more than that ten second sprint by which to remember her Olympic experience: she could think back with pride on her time of training and the camaraderie that would have entailed; on the excitement of arriving at the Olympic village and the great spirit of mutual joy which pervades it; of the wonder of partaking in the Opening Ceremony; and then, in the experience of defeat, a certain humility and self-knowledge which couldn’t have been arrived at by any other set of experiences.

    If we consider that every single one of the athletes at the forthcoming games is embarked on such a journey then perhaps we can enter vicariously into the spirit of the Games with even greater delight.

    Even so, the Olympics have down the years bequeathed their particularly memorable dramas, and these all seem to correspond to lessons which we can learn from. Everybody knows that Jesse Owens in 1936 thwarted the racialist ideology of Adolf Hitler when the Games were staged in Berlin. That win reminds us that of the point of competition: our bodies, in their measurable capacities, open up onto reality in a way in which the dark fantasies of dictators do not. This is the health of sport: each discipline is calculable, and the fact of an agreed upon set of rules makes us pay attention and leads us onto truth.

    Those who win all teach us something about how we might find something extra in our own lives, no matter what it is we have been called upon to do in our work. I remember the extraordinary career of Michael Phelps who in 2008 broke Mark Spitz’s record by winning 8 gold medals at one Games.

    In his seventh win he seemed to be losing in the 100 metre butterfly to Serbia’s Milorad Čavić and somehow in the last stroke made a great lunge forward to win the race by one hundredth of a second. It was a lesson on the very fine margins between success and its antithesis, but also opens up onto the possibility that we may all have something more within ourselves: it is a question of searching – and in this case, having the ability somehow to summon up precisely what you need when you most need it.

    Usain Bolt was a different sort of athlete altogether. He made his element pure showmanship, and I doubt any Olympian ever bestowed so much joy per minute. I expect if you totted up all his races across his career, you’d arrive at about five minutes of entertainment. Yet he changed the world because he showed us how to compete without arrogance, yet in celebration at what we’re capable of.  There was nothing self-effacing whatsoever about Bolt, but everybody could see his good nature – his delight was never aimed at his rivals in any negative way. Instead, it went outwards with the honest intention of delighting the crowds.

    Everybody who comes before us in the Olympics can feel transparent in that way – under the microscope of our collective observation. We feel we know this procession of athletes: Simone Biles with her agility and her occasional lapses into mental fragility; Daley Thompson’s slightly embittered determination; Steven Redgrave’s nearly humourless bloody-mindedness.

    Each of these, and so many others, present themselves for our inspection and we can admire their strengths, consider their foibles. Here is success to be reached for with a certain inner uncertainty (Biles), to be grimly and sometimes glumly striven for (Redgrave) or loftily assigned to oneself (Thompson). Personally, I can never get over the straightforward delight of Dame Kelly Holmes as she realises what she’s done in winning the 800 metres in Athens in 2004.

    I have written several drafts of this article, and each time when I get to this paragraph I have paused to watch that race, and felt the same tingle when the bell for the last lap rings. Each time, I find myself muttering, “Go on, Kelly” on the final stretch even though I know the result of the race. So much that is precious about the Olympics and humanity is contained in her expression when she sees she’s won: she can’t believe what she’s done as she didn’t know what she was capable of – until she gave it a try.

    Despite this, defeat can sometimes be more vivid than victory. Consider, for instance, the story of Derek Redmond who was running in the semi-final of the 400 metres, with a very good chance of a medal should he reach the final. Sadly, he tore his hamstring, but decided to finish the race, evidently in extreme agony. His father came down from the stands to assist him and help him finish.

    Nobody who has seen this very moving footage can doubt that there is something here in our own lives which we might emulate. We all go through our lives, vaguely aware that it is in our gift to help each other. But this is an illustration of what help often looks like. I imagine Redmond’s father may briefly have wondered if he was allowed to cross over the stands and help his son, and yet chose to overcome that impediment. It is a reminder that there are always reasons we create for ourselves not to help.

    Whenever I watch any montage of Olympic highlights, I start to wonder what it’s about. What is it that makes human being create these disciplines and perfect them? Does it matter if we ever run 100 metres in under 9 seconds? Did it matter that Roger Bannister ran the four minute mile? From one standpoint, it can seem oddly futile – the balls going back and forth; the bodies in their postures; the weights being lifted; the heights being hurdled or vaulted.

    And yet there is something good for us about learning to do things well: at our best, it seems that by determined efforts we reach some kind of higher freedom, where we are in some better relationship with natural law. Besides, it is unthinkable to permit a world without play.

    It was the great scientist and theologian Emmanuel Swedenborg who said that when the angels play in heaven, they play far harder than we do here. The only right response to the advent of the Paris Olympics is to emulate that.

     

     

  • Friday art essay: Impressionism at 150

    Christopher Jackson

     

    If you go to the National Gallery in London and visit, say, Room 32, where Mannerism is represented, there’s a good chance you’ll have it more or less to yourself. The same will likely be true if you walk past all those Renis and Guercinos and into Room 33, where Chardin’s Card-Players typically hangs. Things will likely get a little more crowded as you swing by the great British landscape painters in Room 34 – JMW Turner and John Constable.

    But something will happen as you enter Room 35: that’s because you’ve entered a room full of Impressionism. Come rain or shine, this will be the busiest part of the gallery. You probably won’t have Cézanne’s views of Mont Sainte-Victoire or any of the many Monets to yourself for very long, and you won’t have Vincent Van Gogh’s Sunflowers to yourself at all. Something has happened: you have crossed over.

    Why is Impressionism, which loosely speaking turns 150 this year, such a big deal? None of the painters, with the possible exception of Vincent, had a natural talent to equal Rembrandt. I don’t think any of them create awe in the viewer as Turner does. If you want the oddities of daily life, you’ve got other Dutch painters like Hendrick Avercamp and Johannes Vermeer. For spiritual power, nothing beats Piero Della Francesca. But if the numbers tell the truth, something about these pictures makes us need them more than all of them put together.

    One possible explanation is that they’re closer to us in time. The Impressionist movement was a response to the great essay ‘The Painter of Modern Life’ written by Charles Baudelaire in 1860, and which created a huge impact at a time when reading was the primary mode of entertainment. In this, the poet pleaded with artists to show the distinctive beauty of the modern world. The paintings in the Louvre, he says:

     

    …represent the past; it is to the painting of modern manners that I wish to address myself today. The past is interesting not only for the beauty extracted from it by those artists for whom it was their present, but also, being past, for its historical value. It is the same with the present. The pleasure we derive from the representation of the present is due not merely to the beauty with which it can be invested but also to its essential quality of being present.

     

    It is this ‘essential quality of being present’ which I think makes the crowds in the National Gallery flock in such numbers to these pictures.

    Admittedly the modern world meant something rather different in 1874 to what it means today, but still there is a sense in which these essentially secular images of pleasure and leisure chime. Though they might be low on depicting things like computer modems or airports, nevertheless they feel psychologically similar in some way to our own lives: they somehow have a legacy in us. It was the critic Louis Leroy who said after the first Impressionist exhibition in a somewhat derogatory way that the artists in the exhibition seemed intent on creating an ‘impression’ – by which he really meant a sketch:

     

    Impression I was certain of it. I was just telling myself that, since I was impressed, there had to be some impression in it — and what freedom, what ease of workmanship! A preliminary drawing for a wallpaper pattern is more finished than this seascape.

     

    This is the authentic note of the misfiring critic, who doesn’t even know that they have missed the main point, and so must satirise in a self-admiring vacuum. What Leroy failed to understand was that the world was now in a state of permanent psychological revolution, and that it would from now on move inexorably in the direction of hurry. We still live like this – dimly aware, even as we dash to the next meeting, that we have not enough time.

    The eye too is in a hurry, never still, blinking continually, and alert to the latest shift. It too makes impressions. It was the Australian critic Clive James who towards the end of his life recalled his early time in Florence and the sight of the Bardi spire rising up over the medieval streets: “Glimpses are all you ever get,” he wrote. Leroy misunderstood that when it came to Impressionism, glimpses were being elevated to the realm of permanent art.

    In doing all this, as Leroy also missed, a new attitude towards light was established and I think this is what really makes these pictures so exciting, and which gives them their addictive charge. Of course, all paintings have something to do with light: whenever you’re painting anything at all, you’re painting that – otherwise you wouldn’t be in the privileged position of being able to see.

    But Impressionism – and this is especially true of Claude Monet (1840-1926) – seems to mark a new kind of interest in light. Monet looks on water in a way different to the way in which, say, Leonardo da Vinci gave it his intention: in his Water Lilies, he wants to break it down, and consider what constitutes reflection and what amounts to water – and crucially, what that elusive entity light has to do with that relationship.

    It is often said that Impressionism was the natural offshoot of photography. And so it was. But people rarely say how that relationship worked: the invention of the camera made people realise that the act of seeing was a more complicated business than had been supposed. The photographic image felt too clinical. Really, it was a kind of abstraction and this sent artists back to themselves.

    If this amounted to a sort of crisis, it was a very exciting one. The sense of juxtaposition between a photograph’s verdict and the human eye’s experience meant that artists were suddenly compelled to consider the constituents of the world. They were helped in this by the way in which science had developed, especially with John Dalton’s discovery of the electron, and its secret and peculiar mystical vibrations.

    But we tend to view Impressionism through a particular lens: we know that it would lead in time to the further fragmentation of Cubism and Abstraction. This in turn reminds us that Impressionism could easily have been a boring philosophical development – as did in fact happen to its successors. We do not flock to the work of Georges Braque – in fact, if it comes to that, I don’t think we really flock to Picasso. It’s all too intellectual and young artists should note how it is no coincidence that in avoiding this, the Impressionists have endured in a way the others haven’t.

    But critics of the time did notice, with considerable prescience, the philosophical radicalism of Impressionism, if they usually failed to note the extent to which this was an underpinning and never intended to distract from the pleasure given to the viewer. The critic Theodore Duret wrote of Monet that he was “no longer painting merely the immobile and permanent aspect of a landscape but its fleeting appearances which the accidents of atmosphere present”.

    This might have been true but it was a merely incidental truth. A sheer love of looking is what makes Impressionism so popular: it is full of an infectious enthusiasm for the visible world. The Impressionists knew that what they saw, faithfully interacted with, was enough. As Monet put it, with his legendary cantankerousness: “Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.”

     

    Given all this, what contemporaries noted was that new aspects of life had been incorporated as subject matter by this new movement. Most of the references to classical mythology which had characterised the Impressionists’ great predecessor Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780-1867) were gone (though they recur occasionally in canvases like Manet’s ‘Olympia’), so were the grand battles and historical scenes preferred by Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863).

    Instead, the Impressionists depicted life’s intimate unfolding: in time they would give us the look of a haystack (Monet), an afternoon lazing by the Seine (Seurat), women bathing (Dégas), ballet-dancers practising their moves (Dégas again), a pair of boots (Vincent), and of course, a vase of sunflowers (Vincent). The gaze had been shifted temporarily away from the reconstruction of events theological and historical. Viewed in that way, and given what happened next, Impressionism is so valuable as a period in art history as it is a brief interregnum of actually looking at the world, rather than thinking about it in paint. This journey towards intellectual painting is already at its starting point in Cézanne’s cerebral canvases.

    We tend to encounter Impressionism in grand art galleries with the best gilt picture frames round the pictures, and so we forget that these painters had a certain humility about their relationship to nature – though Monet certainly cannot have been called humble towards other people. In the way in which they faithfully set down what they saw, they were everymen – though in many cases everymen who happened to be geniuses. The artist beginning today could do a lot worse than look not towards the next fad but to what really lies outside their window for the inspiration that really counts.

    The other thing we miss – and again it’s because reputation can sometimes intervene between us and what a painter’s real intentions are – is the wonderful oddity of some of the people knocking around Paris in the 1860s and 70s. For instance, the first Impressionists exhibition took place in the studio of a magnificent photographer called Nadar, who deserves an article in his own right.

    He was not just a magnificent and original photographer but also an early enthusiast for ballooning; I think he was probably a fairly peculiar character in the best sense. But all the Impressionists had their unusualness from Monet’s ill temper to Renoir’s flightiness and indecision – not to mention Van Gogh’s occasional tendency, attributable today to bipolar disorder, to hug random people in the street.

     

    We think of success as somehow preordained once it has happened, but it rarely looks like that at the time: actually it looks improbable for the reason that it’s usually unlikely to happen. Next time you see someone tinkering away at a picture or an invention with a look of concentration on their face, you may not be looking at someone slightly bonkers, but at a historical figure.

    When it comes to Impressionism, the plight of women is another interesting one. The National Gallery of Ireland is this summer celebrating the 150th anniversary of the first Impressionist exhibition with Women Impressionists, a show which lasers in on four women artists integral to Impressionism – Berthe Morisot (1841-1895), Eva Gonzalès (1849-1883), Marie Bracquemond (1860-1914), and Mary Cassatt (1844-1926). All but Eva Gonzalès exhibited at Impressionist exhibitions, of which there were eight over the following 12 years.

    It’s worth going to Dublin for – here are the women who broke free from being painted to doing the actual art. Morisot is easily the best known today – and in fact that was also the case in 1874, in that she was the only female artist to be featured in that first show at Nadar’s studio.

    Throughout the Dublin exhibition we find images of maternal intimacy and gentleness. In Morisot’s work we are shown domesticity as it hasn’t been shown since Vermeer. But while Vermeer’s paintings sometimes point a lesson, or suggest an allegory, these are completely shorn of any morality: here we see, as in Cottage Interior, the quiet of the typical household shorn of explanation. This is just a girl in a beautifully lit interior, with a garden outside, some food on the table: life is like this, it seems to give such few directives. We live amid quiet mystery and many of Morisot’s paintings testify to this.

    This sense of a welcoming simplicity repeats in the other female impressionists in the show. In Mary Cassatt’s drawings we can see that the love of Japanese prints wasn’t confined to Vincent Van Gogh – it was as much a fad of that time as primitivism would be at the start of the 20th century. My favourite picture of hers is Summertime where the water seems thicker, gloopier even, than it does in a Monet where we can hardly tell what is water and what is light. And yet on certain summer days, when it’s really hot, we find ourselves more conscious of the shade and the shadows, since we seek them out.

    Summertime, 1894. Oil on canvas, 39 5/8 x 32 in. Daniel J. Terra Collection, 1988.25.

     

    The Dublin exhibition confirms that Impressionism is still very much alive: it’s not really an aspect of art history at all, but part of our living reality. Today we find young artists falling over themselves to create gimmicks, and sustain an Instagram-driven brand: perhaps there are ways to build a brief career in that line, but it is impossible to create true art without reference to what is before our eyes in the universe itself. Impressionism is so valuable because it provides us with this encouragement. It sometimes seems behind us; really, it’s the way forward.

     

  • Discovering the Charm Budapest: Tom Pauk’s Letter from the Heart of Hungary

    Tom Pauk

     

    I’m writing at our table in the New York Café, Budapest, although to call this ridiculously ornate former insurance hall a café seems at best irreverent. I’ve just polished off a bowl of somloi galuska, Hungarian trifle made with walnuts, chocolate and cream, soaked in apricot brandy.

    I’m here with my wife Rachel in Hungary’s capital visiting friends and relatives. My parents fled the country during the 1956 Uprising, so it’s another opportunity for me to practice my rusty Hungarian, a dauntingly opaque language linked only to Finnish and Estonian.

    Budapest is above all a city of bridges, connecting the commercial side, Pest, with the leafy hills of Buda, dominated by Castle Hill with its steep, cobbled alleys, atop which the imposing Castle, Fisherman’s Bastion and magnificent Matthias Church.

    During your visit you’ll find yourself crossing the Danube often in order to take in this stunningly beautiful city and walk off the calories. The most famous crossing is the “picture postcard” Széchenyi Chain Bridge; designed by an Englishman, constructed by a Scot.

     

    Pest is home also to Hungary’s 286 metre-long neo-Gothic Parliament (or Országház) in Kossuth Square. It’s well worth the visit and the No. 2 tram and Line 2 metro stop right outside. If you’ve been to Vienna you’ll be reminded of its architectural doppelganger, Vienna’s gothic City Hall.

    Prior to WW2, Budapest was home to one of Europe’s largest Jewish communities. The first anti-Jewish laws had been passed in 1938; Jews were banned from working in government and from editing newspapers, and only six per cent. of lawyers, doctors and engineers were permitted to be Jewish. The events that followed Nazi Germany’s invasion of Hungary in March 1944 need no retelling here, suffice to say that my own family (both maternal and paternal sides) was severely impacted.

    The Dohány Street (or Great) Synagogue (closest metro stop Astoria), built in an Arabic-Moorish style (check out those Alhambra-like domed towers), remains Europe’s largest with a capacity of 3,000 worshippers. A visit (guided and private tours can be booked on-line, or just buy a ticket and wander around) takes in the synagogue itself, memorial gardens and the Hungarian Jewish museum on the site of the house where Theodor Herzl was born. Especially poignant, the dramatic Emanuel Tree (or Weeping Willow) Memorial, which has the names of thirty thousand Holocaust victims inscribed on its metal leaves.

    Dohány Street marks the border of the former Budapest Ghetto within Budapest’s District 7, an area now popular for its specialist coffee shops, falafel bars, craft beers and quirky shops. While there, admire the fusion of Judeo-Art Nouveau of the orthodox synagogue, and stop off for a superb flat white at Stika.

    Do also visit the Cipők a Duna-parton (or Shoes Memorial) roughly half-way between Parliament and Széchenyi Chain Bridge on the Pest embankment. The sixty pairs of iron shoes, boots and sandals commemorate the hundreds of Budapest Jews lined up and shot into the river by the Hungarian Fascist Militia in December 1944. My father, then only eight, was one of those rounded up for execution. Mercifully, he was able to run away and avoid recapture.

    Budapest is famous for the wellbeing properties of its waters. The city sits on a geological fault line with hundreds of natural springs jetting skywards. Following their conquest of Hungary in 1526 the Turks built a number of Hamman-style thermal baths, three of which, Rudas, Király and Veli Bej, operate today. However, for the full spa experience, head over to either of Gellért Baths (in the fabulous Art Nouveau Hotel Gellert on the Buda side), and Széchenyi Baths (the largest spa complex in Europe, and especially wonderful in winter) for a full range of spa treatments, and for mineral-rich indoor and outdoor swimming.

    A quick mention of Hungarian politics. Hmm. Hungary continues to struggle with … let’s politely say idiosyncratic views, likely a result of being subjugated over the centuries by successive invaders (Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian, Soviet) and now struggling to assert its own identity. Happily, as a visitor you’ll be oblivious to the country’s growing political radicalisation on the global stage, and unless you’ve a good grasp of Hungarian you’ll miss the inflammatory political messaging on posters and billboards.

    Where to stay? You could check in to one of the global 5* brands (Four Seasons, Kempinski, Ritz Carlton and others) but Budapest also has an abundance of boutique hotels and Airbnb properties. On one memorable visit Rachel and I stayed at Brody House,  a former artists’ salon, now quirky boutique hotel, in which each of the ten rooms has been decorated by a different artist.

    If you’re staying for more than a long weekend, a half-day in the small baroque town of Szentendre along the banks of the Danube (40 minutes on the HÉV H5 local train from Margit Bridge) provides a wonderful escape from the bustle of the city on a hot summer’s day. With its narrow cobblestoned streets, art galleries, coffee shops and churches, Szentendre is home also to the Szamos Csokoládé Múzeum (Museum of Chocolate).

    Your waistline won’t thank me but trust me, you will!

    On the subject of food (I keep coming back to that, don’t I), traditional Hungarian restaurants abound, and with the forint weak against Sterling and US$ you’ll find prices generally low by say London standards. I’d suggest avoiding the glitzy eateries along the Pest embankment and up on Castle Hill in favour of more authentic dinning venues like Café Kor, Két Szerecsen and, for a modern take on Hungarian classic cuisine, Szaletly. Reservations are always wise; Budapest is busy all year round.

    More Budapest top tips:

     

    ABSOLUTELY take the number 2 tram (Pest side) on its stunningly scenic 20-minute meander from Közvágóhíd to Jászai Mari Square at the Margit Bridge. For 450 forint (under a quid!) you’ll take in many of the major Budapest landmarks. When you get off, walk half-way across the bridge to Margit Island, a one-kilometre green oasis equivalent to say Hyde or Central Park. It will take you a pleasant hour or so to circumnavigate.

    Download the BudapestGo app to purchase e-tickets for bus, tube and tram. Alternatively, buy books of ten from ticket machines (4,000 forint or roughly £8.50). A word of caution: ticket inspectors are ruthless and abundant, and all tickets (paper and digital) must be validated in a designated machine to avoid incurring a hefty penalty fare.

    Download the Főtaxi taxi app,  Budapest’s cheap and reliable equivalent to Uber.  Főtaxi is the official provider of taxi services to and from Budapest Airport. Fares are transparent and reasonable. Bolt also operates in the city.

     

    Budapest is a walker’s paradise (wear comfortable shoes) and is perhaps even more beautiful after dark!

     

    ***

     

    Back at the New York Café our waitress has returned. Would we like the bill, she enquires, her eye on the growing queue of impatient faces that now snakes all the way back to the main entrance. Not just yet. Could we see the menu again? That raspberry and pistachio tart looks rather tempting.

  • Dame Esther Rantzen’s ‘Older & Bolder’: An Inspiring Journey – A Review by Ronel Lehmann

    Older & Bolder

    Dame Esther Rantzen

     

     

     

    I often remind our student candidates that is normal to be nervous before an interview. At their age, I was so very fortunate to shadow Esther Rantzen from her green room to live broadcast on BBC That’s Life and Hearts of Gold. The minute before she waited to walk on to receive rapturous live audience applause, you could see stage fright kick in and the shear look of terror on her face. Of course, it was all gone as quick as it arrived once the programme titles started rolling. It is good that in her golden years, she is still inspiring the next generation with her wisdom.

    Her sixth book Over entitled “Older & Bolder” is crammed with advice, gleaned from her own experience, what she has learned as a journalist, author and broadcaster, and from what she has been told on the rare occasions when she has actually listened to somebody else who turned out to be worth hearing.

    This energising book charts her time travels through her most significant memories, from meeting Princess Diana to creating a national outrage with a mischievous short film about a driving dog and reflects with candour and humour on the life lessons she has learned, revealing the hints, hacks and personal philosophies that have been her secrets to surviving almost everything.

    We may not all achieve what Dame Esther has, but here we can soak up her wisdom, laughter and learn from her, embracing the passing years and march boldly on.

    Over a career spanning five decades Dame Esther Rantzen has appeared in more than 2,000 television broadcasts, in her regular contributions to political and news programmes, including The One Show, she especially advocates protecting vulnerable people and growing old ungracefully. She is also a reality TV favourite with appearances on Strictly Come Dancing, First Dates, and I’m a Celebrity. As a journalist, she writes for the Daily mail, the Guardian, the Telegraph and The Times.

    She was awarded a DBE in 2015 for her services to children and older people, through her pioneering work as founder of Childline and The Silver Line.

    I am still in touch with Dame Esther today. Sadly, she was recently diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. Her quote “Remember that history is written by the survivors, be bolder as you grow older and make sure you float above any challenges that threaten to overwhelm you,” will resonate with all those who have had the privilege of meeting or working with her and the audiences of tens of millions who avidly placed their trust in her during a career spanning five decades.

    Her generosity of spirit to others less fortunate will always live on.

  • Promoting Community Relations to Advance Net-Zero: An Interview with Marjorie Neasham Glasgow

    Marjorie Neasham, Promoting Community Relations to advance Net Zero, Glasgow

     

    Sir Keir Starmer swept to power and is proposing a ‘mission driven government.’ He is making clean energy one of Labour’s top missions. Vowing to make the UK a ‘clean energy superpower,’ Labour have set bold targets to double onshore wind, treble solar and quadruple offshore wind by 2030.

     

    Their dedication to decarbonising society is welcome. Labour has also made welcome signals they are committed to translating ambitious targets into action through necessary planning reform.

     

    To attract the level of investment required for us to achieve net zero – especially in the timeframe Labour have suggested – and for renewables to meet their economic potential, we need a more efficient planning process. In her first major speech as Chancellor, Rachel Reeves lifted the de-facto ban on onshore wind. This overturns planning rules that have made it almost impossible to secure planning consent for onshore wind in England in the last decade.

     

    The UK can yet become a global leader in renewables innovation, enabling a rollout of onshore projects that make environmental and financial sense amid a world without consensus on climate change. In fact, the UK is making more progress than many think in the transition to a more renewables-based energy sector.

     

    For the first time ever, renewables accounted for more than 40% total UK electricity demand in the second half of 2023. Analyses by Drax Electric Insights showed that in the 12 months leading into October 2023, coal supplied less than 1% of the UK’s electricity use for the first time.

     

    The UK is also the first major economy to cut its emissions by half since 1990, compared to the EU, who have cut emissions by 30%, the US not at all, while China’s emissions are up by 300% according to the UK Department for Energy Security and Net Zero in a 12 March 2024 statement on reinforcing energy supply.

     

    Further, a growing proportion of new jobs in the UK are ‘green jobs’, defined by the Office for National Statistics as ‘employment in an activity that contributes to protecting or restoring the environment, including those that mitigate or adapt to climate change’. Recent PwC data indicates that 2.2% of new UK jobs are classified as ‘green,’ green jobs growing four times faster than jobs in the wider UK market. And research by the UCL Institute for Sustainable Resources indicates UK green jobs could increased by 150,000 by 2030.

     

    Yet, while the data shows we are making progress, we are still some way off bringing local communities on board with the transition. To deliver on decarbonisation, we don’t just need political will and investment.

     

    Many people see the value and importance of transitioning to renewable energy. For instance, they are aware that producing and burning fossil fuels creates air pollution that harms our health and generates toxic emissions that drive climate change. Imperial College research finds that air pollution is the largest single environmental risk factor in the UK, associated with the premature deaths of 28,000-36,000 people each year and affecting the poorest in society the most. The transition to renewable energy will help address these health concerns.

     

    However, people understandably also want to know what tangible economic, cultural and social benefits the transition will bring to their daily lives and their communities. Right now, the renewables industry is struggling to convince people that we can genuinely deliver a green energy transition with respect for landscapes, livelihoods and heritage.

     

    Sir Keir Starmer vowed to make public trust a central theme of his government. That must be the foundation of all our work across the renewables sector too. In my 30 years in this sector, I have learned that trust is the cornerstone for driving meaningful change in the renewable industry.

     

    Without communities onboard, in a way that engages them based on their local needs, concerns and aspirations, it is difficult to develop the trust that is so vital to seizing the opportunities in front of the UK.

     

    Trust fosters collaboration, ensuring that local needs, concerns, and aspirations are addressed. This engagement not only facilitates smoother project implementation but also enhances public support and acceptance.

     

    Trust can only be developed gradually through relationships between real people, not corporate language or platitudes. This process takes time – there are no shortcuts. A recent King’s College London study found that 98% of the UK population say they trust people they know personally – joint top out of 24 countries with Sweden and Norway – showing that trust can only be built through relationships between real people rather than conglomerates and brands.

     

    For responsible developers, months if not years of investment in community relations are necessary to understand who they are and what they care about. Consultation processes must not be tick-box exercises. They must be proactive and truly collaborative, with developers actively approaching community members at the onset of every project.

     

    Developers need to demonstrate to local communities that a green energy transition is worthwhile for them socially, culturally and economically as well as being sustainable.

     

    Communities must be consulted and allowed to shape projects from the start, considering the potential impacts on their lives. That includes listening and learning about their specific needs as well as generating local jobs and creating cleaner, more sustainable energy sources.

     

    Developers have so many assets and areas of expertise they can offer communities, should both sides be open to a genuine, real relationship.

     

    At Ridge Clean Energy we look beyond our renewable energy projects when partnering with local communities, and use our resources and expertise to advance community initiatives that are important to them. In some cases, communities may seek investment for local initiatives that are not at all directly related to energy. That doesn’t preclude a developer from helping, they just need to think creatively.

     

    For example, we recently lent our fundraising and development expertise to one community in Scotland that wanted help to restore its much-loved local pier, an important point of cultural pride. We worked with community leaders and groups in the town of Inveraray near one of our development sites.

     

    Our team helped the community to apply for and secure £244,000 in funding to take ownership of the pier and restore it, finally seeing it open to the public for the first time in a decade. We supported local community negotiations with the previous pier owner, helping to provide the confidence that a repurchasing was possible. This was all undertaken years before we submitted a planning permission application for our site.

     

    We are also in the process of establishing a Climate Care Awards scheme for primary schools in the vicinity of our projects, to help contribute to their academic growth and foster a sense of ownership and responsibility towards their community and the planet.

     

    As part of the Awards, children will be encouraged first to work together with their classmates and their families to calculate their carbon footprint, and second to take small steps to reduce it, by, for example, turning off lights, shopping second-hand and planting their own vegetables.

     

    We are excited about the project’s potential, and would like to share the programme with other renewables companies who could take it to the schools in the communities they serve.

     

    American investor and philanthropist Warren Buffett once said ‘trust is like the air we breathe. When it’s present nobody really notices. But when it’s absent, everyone notices.’ As we navigate the complexities of the green energy transition, trust cannot simply be a buzzword.

     

    There is a profound importance to fostering genuine long-term trust among communities. Developers and politicians alike must acknowledge that will only happen through real actions, not just words, one genuine relationship at a time.

     

    Marjorie Neasham Glasgow is CEO of Ridge Clean Energy