Back to index of Nerve 21 - Winter 2012

The first edition of Nerve carried an article about the closure of the North West Arts Board office in Liverpool just before Capital of Culture year. Paul Tarpey reflects on the loss of this cultural hub.

Creative Vacuum

I heard a poem the other day by North West poet John Siddique that included the line; ‘imagine thirst without knowing water’(1). Just because it’s been spinning round my head all day I thought I would start with this. I’m not going to drag a clear analogy between that and the subject matter straight away, but let’s put it in an envelope and look at it later.

Reflecting on the closure of the Arts Board office in Liverpool ten years ago it is hard not to make points that seem purely enigmatic. I wasn’t aware something like that was needed at the time, I don’t think we could easily replicate it now and I think if I had heard the facts without being involved in it then I may well have made the decision to close it too. More importantly if someone was to point out the petty nature of complaining about that closure amidst the current climate of brutal mass closures of essential services then I would blush and stop ranting.

Liverpool Arts Board was an office on Duke Street, with one full time member of staff. It was opened in 1996 as a place to store general information and provide a formal meeting place with Arts officers, or artists to meet. It developed into much more than that with a heady mix of monitored chaos.

Now when I stroll past the rubbly parking space that the Arts Board and several other creative hubs gave their life for I tend to mentally list the events and projects that sparked from its previous existence. But who is to say they were any more unique or inspiring than any other projects that emerged without the free photocopying and computers that the Arts Board office provided.

But there was a massive level of objection ten years ago, and it was considered inexplicable that a well meaning organisation like the North West Arts Board decided it wasn't worth the money to keep a small office open in the heart of a city preparing to justify the notion of a culture capital.

Neil Morrin was office manager at the time, "North West Arts Board, as it was then, organised a public meeting with artists and organisations who used the office where they were given an explanation as to why it was closing. This was that NWAB was merging with Arts Council England in restructure across whole of the country, and the office cost £50,000 a year to run and it could be saved and used to reinvest in small arts organisations."

At that meeting there were passionate and profound objections but even from the viewpoint of someone desperate to see the office kept open it was clear that the arguments were not going to be compelling when repeated to financial decision makers. And they were desperate for justifiable savings.

"My understanding was that the savings would go back into a central bigger pot and that pot would then benefit the arts across the North West," remembers Neil.

"There were no specific plans laid down for money to come back to the city at the time. It was a slow retraction of services across the whole of the country as Arts Council consolidated its activities and funding alike."

So close it did. And I don't believe there has been an obvious point of contact or advice for emerging artists since within Liverpool.

Alan Dunn was one artist who recognised that support for Liverpool artists needed to be much more than financial.
"I was fortunate to receive some regular ACE funding for various billboard or audio projects but have followed some of the changes over recent years. I no longer really 'know' anyone at the Arts Council and I am not sure they 'know me' or my work. I remember the Liverpool branch and it did feel good to have that outpost, for advice or meetings and so on.

"I think organisations had to change as the Capital of Culture became a reality and I think some of them did well to retain relations with individual artists whereas others had to look further afield than Liverpool."

It is of course possible that we are all glamorising the past. If something exciting is happening now then I accept I have little idea of where to go to find out about it. So I could easily be missing something. But isn't that the point. As Neil explains, "It was an identifiable cultural hub in the city, somewhere to come for advice or guidance, there was no other one stop shop. In it's time Liverpool benefited highly from having such an office in the city, where cultural production was rife."

This view is echoed by Paul Rooney, another artist to produce exciting work during this period.

"I remember using the office for photocopying, and using the computer, when such things were difficult to access, and the library of publications useful to artists applying for funding was a great help. So the available facilities were a strength, as was the opportunity to bump into other city based artists and have a chat, which didn’t happen anywhere else apart from the odd private view."

But there is something more crucial that hasn't been mentioned yet. Serendipity, a word you won’t hear on any grants form, but it is the most important part of everything I have valued creatively. A mix of things that just work, and won’t work the second someone tries to quantify them; happy accidents. Serendipity is what is missing when you are wondering what the hell 'is' exactly missing from the project that you have taken no chances with, and filled all the forms in correctly for. The arts board in Liverpool may well have eventually lost what made it inspiring. Some people will always try to work out a way to take personal advantage at the expense of others when the licence is there to. No matter what force of personality stands in its way, cynicism is a powerful force to fight when it disguises itself as part of the anarchy. But why pre-empt that? When the ripples that began there could have been deeper and wider.

So if you are someone with ideas in your head and no obvious place to start then you may well be crying out for something you don’t even know you are missing. For me it was somewhere with enough structure that I could overcome my timidity, and enough freedom that it enabled me to take chances. Somewhere to build my confidence with people around who could tell me obvious mistakes to avoid, as well as reassuring me it didn’t matter if you made them. As Alan Dunn puts it;

"I was lucky to work with a lot of people and projects right at the beginning when there was a real sense of experimentation and things weren't necessary tied into a brochure three months ahead. The possibility of things not working, of going wrong, must remain in any city."

There seemed to be many like me that the Liverpool Arts Board worked for. Equally there will be many people who needed something else. But the streamlined grant applications and formal online advice appear to have had nothing like the same impetus in Liverpool that a small office with the right attitude provided. And if I didn’t really understand what it was I needed till it was there, then why did other people think they did, and try to replace it with something I never needed. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t like any of us.

1. 'Thirst' by John Siddique.

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