At the age of 3 or 4, I wrote my first poem, Leaf. It was about a leaf on its way to the ground. For my tender years it was fairly advanced since I didn't come into contact with an actual tree until I was at least 5. In fact, I had no idea that leaves grew on trees or even what a tree was. Nor did I have any sense of the changing seasons, raised in a place where nature was limited to flies, rats, worms and weeds. Maybe I saw the tree on TV or in a picture book.
Where does this impulse to create come from? As children, do we all start from the same place only to have the urge knocked out of us? Growing up, it never occurred to me to become an artist, writer or poet. As a working-class child I had no role models or parents with ambitions, either for themselves or for their offspring. Not once did I visit a (free) art gallery or museum. The notion that art could be a job was ludicrous, yet it was my destiny.
Every few months, under pain of divorce or death, I promise my husband never to mention the words Scotland or Scottish in relation to work. Yet here I am. The recent report that Creative Scotland has cut awards to individual artists is not only depressing, it also confirms the dysfunction of Scotland's main arts funder, a body that includes Screen Scotland. That the latter has never granted state largesse to individuals is presumably because they believe people who make films on their own are like unto dancing unicorns and therefore non-existent.
This news would be bad enough if it was only about money, but it's worse. When a so-called porn film, Rein was awarded funding by Creative Scotland, the legacy media had its usual fit of the vapours and the funding was soon withdrawn amid a flush of faux contrition by CS and a scuttle for the high-moral ground in a sorry-not-sorry statement. Personally I would have more respect for CS had they defended their decision and stood by their artist, Leonie Rae Gasson - according to her - is a 'neurospicy' kinkster who, bizarrely, isn't even named in their statement/denial despite her starring role in the fiasco. But lacking both courage and conviction save for self-preservation, Creative Scotland went for the least painful option: burn the anonymous witch.
As well they might. On the subject of witches, the memo about reputational damage didn't reach CS Literature Officer and self-styled witch, Dr. Alice Tarbuck, revealed in a Daily Mail article to have called at least one bookshop to dissuade them from stocking the forthcoming book, Hounded, written by the poet and performer, Jenny Lindsay in which she describes her cancellation by institutions, peers and 'friends', a casualty of the battle between Trans Rights Activists and Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists: TRAs versus TERFs.
Ms. Lindsay came to my attention when she posted on X about her nullification by Scottish Pen and other, august organisations because of her beliefs. I've since seen her perform twice and, impressed by her work, bought her collection, This Script, so I guess excommunication has its upside. Moreover, while Jenny's treatment by a member of Creative Scotland's own staff struck me as beyond extraordinary, it was matched only by the org's response when Tarbuck's tactics were exposed. Rather than fire the culprit, CS chose to protect she/her and worse, ensured that she/her need not sully herself with any toxic GC drivel in the future. I assume she/her also asked for counselling and possibly a support cat. You'd think by now Creative Scotland would be acquainted with the definition of 'liability'.
As I commented on X, anyone distracted by the failings of Creative Scotland and arts funding in general is making a category error. Creative Scotland, an arm's-length governmental agency, doesn't exist to support art. Rather, it's a zombie organisation, a marketing quango charged with upholding outmoded institutions in exchange for clients providing them with promotional material in order to look productive.
I'm pleased to say I've no skin in this rigged game. Nor (to my knowledge) have I been cancelled for my beliefs, religious, gender critical or plain subversive. Amid the brouhaha at Waverley Gate (the Edinburgh HQ of CS/SS) what goes unremarked is the Stasi action of the quango as it gathers intel on, let's say, "persons of interest". Not so long ago a fellow writer and filmmaker confided to me he intended to submit a SAR – a Subject Access Request – to learn what information Creative Scotland held on him.
While in certain areas of public life scrutiny is necessary, why is an arts funder making background checks? As Creative Scotland states on its website, their remit to scrape data may include 'current, past and prospective employees, agency workers, secondees, funding applicants, contractors and suppliers.' Top of the list, however is 'members of the public.' MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC? Is this a bit of boilerplate blah that escaped their lawyer's notice? Or is it deliberate and therefore deleterious? Naturally any liability is waved away with a nod to the Data Protection Act, GDPR and sundry laws but still it begs the question – who decided to arrogate to themselves the right to gather information on random people?
If you've made it this far, perhaps you'll agree that this is, in the scheme of things, both petty and boring; the ill-judged funding decisions, the ideological capture and the casual corruption. Bureaucracy relies on that. Organisations that deal with public money typically use the arid terrain of accountability as a form of corporate camouflage, thereby dodging scrutiny. Few challenge the calibre of CS management, most of whom, incidentally, have failed in their own creative practice so with mortgages to pay have opted for the administrative life. They are, as Derek Jarman once said of BBC staff, "addicted to the payslip." Similarly there's scant inquiry into the board members who preside over this shambles while cosplaying responsible professionals but with no fix, no coherent plan and no intention to raise their game.
On the 4th September, Angus Robertson, the Scottish Government's current Culture Minister, announced additional funding for Creative Scotland, the latest in a series of unrequited pledges to save the arts. It's baloney. For instance, an additional £1m for Screen Scotland is a pitiful sum that's most likely ringfenced as a subsidy for BBC Scotland. Likewise is the announcement of the re-opening of the Open Fund which, as their own small print states, is 'under consideration.'
The month of September, as those who know me know, is a dreaded season filled with sad anniversaries from which I make a point of escaping. This year, my first stop is Berlin, whose annual arts/culture budget – and I stress this is for a single city - is over 600 million Euros, a phenomenal number that puts our government to shame.
Meanwhile in Scotland, the usual parade of outraged, disaffected and, let's face it, ageing artists sign petitions, write angry letters, make FOI requests, complain on social media just enough to feel good yet ever mindful of shitting on their own doorstep in case things pick up and the cash flows again. Every few years the gatekeepers of Scottish culture find themselves embroiled in some petty scandal or other. With depressing predictability, the result is a lot of noise but nothing ever changes – why should it? As long as the system works for some people, it works. The stakes REALLY are that low.
I ask my older self - could I ever have become a poet? Then I remind myself that being a poet is a bit like being a filmmaker. In Scotland, one can't make a living out of either. The above image is of autumn leaves shot in Pollok Park last year. It occurred to me how, like the leaf, we're all destined to fall to the ground. Some will get there before others but we will all get there in the end.